Chapter Thirty-Eight
Everything after Venice felt grey. It didn’t help that I came back to a gloomy London, the city beneath a dense grey sky, always under threat of rain, but not in an exciting way like Singapore, just .
. . predictable. I should have been riding high, but instead I felt totally adrift.
I had this sense that everything was wrong, even though everything was right, except for my parents, and me and Josh.
I was finally the woman of the hour, sleek and glamorous and taken seriously, after being a strange little child actress for so many years. So why wasn’t I enjoying it?
Whatever the problem was, the solution, as always, was to work.
Take meetings, go to Milan for a two-day photo shoot for Vespucci’s new signature handbag, talk to Glen and various lawyers about buying the rights to Eleanor Blomquist’s book for adaptation while we were in the process of setting up the company, doing press for Orientations.
Anything I could to keep myself busy. I checked Josh’s Instagram every day.
I couldn’t help it, I needed to see where he was, who he was with, if he was being photographed with another girl.
If so, he was completely within his rights but it would have devastated me.
I had no interest in meeting someone else.
I’d flick through magazine features on ‘hot young British actors’ and feel nothing, no flicker of interest or even curiosity.
I hoped this wasn’t me done forever, just pining after Josh for years while he moved on. So, I did what I do best, and I worked.
When I wasn’t working I was working out, and my star had risen so much in the past year that runs through Regent’s Park had become impossible.
I’d traded them in for running on a treadmill and taking classes at a gym in Marylebone where I (yes, even Emily Montgomery!) had to linger on a waiting list for a month before they deigned to give me membership.
I was walking home across Regent’s Park, my muscles aching after a particularly spicy Reformer Pilates class, when my podcast was interrupted by an incoming call. It was Glen.
‘Emily!’ he boomed in my ear.
‘Hi, Glen!’ I said, and I forced myself to do it cheerily.
I’d slipped into this way of thinking recently where I was just poised for bad news.
It didn’t matter that things were going well, anything could be taken away from you at any minute.
I was convinced every call from Glen was news of my cancellation, something bad about a project I was being considered for, that Legacy Studios had folded overnight.
I didn’t used to be like this, but I couldn’t help looking at everything through .
. . whatever the opposite of rose-tinted glasses was.
‘Just a sec! I’m going to add Chloe into the mix!’
Intriguing.
‘Oh, Emily!’ Chloe sounded like she was spilling over with excitement and her tone of voice made my pulse speed up a little bit. Whatever this was, it was . . . good?
‘We wanted to both be on the call when I told you the good news!’
‘Yes?’ I urged him, nearly dying of curiosity and impatience.
‘You’ve been nominated for a Best Supporting Actress BAFTA! Isn’t that incredible?!’
I felt the hot prick of tears in my eyes. My heart leaped, my stomach did somersaults, everything felt tingly and warm. ‘I have?’ I choked out. I mean, I knew it was kind of possible, but I didn’t in a million, billion years think it would actually happen. To me? The girl from Wonderwick?
I sat down on a park bench, watching people go about their day. They had no idea what was happening to me. I didn’t matter to them. I was insignificant. But I was having one of the most incredible moments of my life! Right here on a gloomy afternoon!
‘You have, babe! Are you happy?’
‘I’m so happy!’ I said, even though ‘happy’ felt completely inadequate for what I was feeling right then. ‘This is huge!’ I’d been aware that nominations were coming out this week but I honestly hadn’t thought of myself as a serious contender.
‘Vespucci will be delighted, they really took you on at the right time!’ Glen said, his voice glowing with pride at the hard work of his colleagues in commercial partnerships.
‘I guess I’m going to need a dress!’ I said, breathlessly.
‘Hell yes you will!’
‘And it’s being announced to the public tomorrow, right?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Glen confirmed. ‘But I know you are the epitome of discretion! You too, Chloe. I can trust you to keep a secret?’
‘My lips are sealed!’ she assured him.
I let their words wash over me as they chatted amongst themselves, offering the odd ‘mmmm’ or ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact I had been nominated for a BAFTA!
Me! I couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it, like it was all a joke. But it wasn’t. It was real!
I walked back to my flat as if I was floating.
I waved at babies in prams, said hello to every dog, admired every tree, smiled at every tourist. I resisted the urge to run up to every person and shout, Did you know I have been nominated for a BAFTA?
Everything looked that little bit brighter to me, the sun fighting to come out from behind the clouds.
Sitting on my cream bouclé sofa with a cup of coffee, I had to fight the urge to call my parents and tell them.
I was seeing them together later in the evening for the first time since their big announcement.
I’d seen them separately, of course, but this was the first tentative push towards unity they’d attempted with me and I really didn’t want to get my hopes up.
I’d let things get a bit messy (by my standards, anyway) so I spent the afternoon tidying the flat.
Funny how even these boring tasks felt more bearable when you were floating with good news.
Of course, I wasn’t going to win but that didn’t matter.
Just to be nominated at this point in my career felt .
. . huge. Unthinkable! Wonderful beyond words!
My parents arrived, bottle of wine in hand even though I’d told them not to bring anything. It was funny how the sight of them together felt strange even though it was normal, as if I’d been carrying around the weight of their separation in my mind even when I couldn’t see it.
‘The place is looking really lovely, Ems,’ Dad said, running his hands over the pale blue paint in the living room.
‘Thanks, I’ve tried to make it feel homely.’
‘You’ve got your mother’s eye for design.’
‘Oh, shush, you!’ Mum said, nudging him but smiling. Was this their version of flirting? Given the circumstances I had to admit this was better than I could have expected.
‘Shall we have a drink before dinner?’ I asked, getting some wine glasses out of the cupboard.
‘Oh, go on,’ Dad said, gamely.
Even if they weren’t together together, they at least seemed to have reached a kind of peace.
I wondered if I told them about the BAFTA nomination, that might sort of help seal the deal somehow.
I knew that it was a silly thought, that it didn’t work like that, but part of me thought maybe I could tip the scales in their favour by sharing my good news.
I poured some wine and looked at them both, my eyes flicking from one to the other. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘What is it?!’ Mum asked.
‘Well, don’t leave us hanging!’ Dad chorused.
‘I’m not meant to tell anyone, so you have to promise to keep it to yourselves. It’s only until tomorrow lunchtime, though, and then everyone else will know. OK? Can you definitely promise to keep this secret for . . . oh, fourteen hours?’
‘Promise,’ Mum said, exasperated.
‘Dad?’
‘Of bloody course! Who am I going to tell?’
I took a deep breath. ‘OK, so, the news is . . .’ I paused for suspense.
‘Come on!’ Mum urged me.
‘I can’t believe it but I’ve been nominated for a BAFTA,’ I said, the words hanging in the air for just a second before they were really understood.
Mum instantly screamed, which prompted Dad to whack her with the back of his hand. ‘Ruth! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’
‘Oh, Ems, that’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard!’ She leaped to her feet and drew me into a hug.
‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised,’ Dad said, wrapping his arms around both of us at the same time. ‘It’s what you bloody deserve. What a film!’
‘We’re so proud of you, love!’ Mum’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I couldn’t have done it without you two,’ I said, feeling overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment.
‘Nonsense,’ Dad said, sniffling a little bit.
‘No, I . . . I really mean it. You both did so much for me. Mum especially, giving up work to chaperone me. I don’t know how to express how much I appreciate it.’
Dad’s lip quivered. I’d never seen him cry! ‘We’re so proud of you. Really.’
We all resumed our positions on the sofa, but instead of making everything feel lighter, that brief outpouring of emotion had left something hanging in the air. I knew we had to talk about The Situation.
‘So,’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘What’s going on with . . . you know?’
Mum and Dad looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes, each waiting for the other to speak.
‘Well,’ Dad began. ‘It’s been hard. I betrayed you and your mum’s trust. And I’m not proud of it.
At all.’ His tone was stiff, clipped. ‘And I honestly don’t blame her for reacting the way she did. It was what I deserved.’
‘But we’ve tried it, love, and the whole trial separation thing . . .’ I held my breath. ‘Well, a trial was good but it’s not really us. Your dad got mixed up in something he shouldn’t have, and he knows it.’
‘I bloody do know it,’ he said, resolutely. ‘I can’t ask your forgiveness enough. All I can do is prove to you I mean it when I say sorry.’
‘So you’re . . . ?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Back together.’ Mum nodded. The relief was instant and glorious.
‘And I’ll pay you back.’ He sounded utterly firm but the money wasn’t what mattered to me.
I shook my head. ‘It’s OK, Dad. You don’t have to. That’s not important to me. What’s important to me is you never getting into this situation again.’
There were tears in his eyes. ‘I promise, darling. I promise. I’m . . . well, I’ve been getting treatment. It’s an addiction and I know I can’t just get past it without sorting my head out.’
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, the pressure of everything finally feeling like it was lifting. ‘So when you leave here you’ll go back to the house? Together?’
They nodded. ‘That’s the plan,’ said Mum.
She sounded tentative but hopeful. Hope was all they needed, really.
A belief that it could work. ‘It’s been going well for the past few days .
. .’ She shrugged. The knowledge they were already back living together was more than I could have hoped for from this evening.
‘Well, now that’s settled,’ I said, getting to my feet, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. ‘Let’s eat!’
As I busied myself in the kitchen, I couldn’t help wondering that if it could work out for my parents was there a world where it could work out for me and Josh, too? But between the BAFTA nomination and my parents being back together, it felt like way too much to ask of the universe.