Authors: Kerry Barrett
A Step In Time (26 page)
He gaped at me.
‘We’re over,’ I hissed.
‘Babe …’
‘Get out.’
Matty reached for me and I batted his hand away.
‘Get out.’
Realising I wasn’t joking, he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and made for the front door.
‘I’ll call you later,’ he said.
‘I won’t answer.’
‘Then you’ll be making a big mistake,’ he said, his handsome face twisted with anger.
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ I said. I felt strangely calm and more in control than I’d felt for weeks. Months, even. ‘I think I’ve just avoided making the biggest mistake of my life.’
Cora, bless her heart, stayed with me as I cried for what seemed like the whole afternoon. But as the evening approached she told me she had tickets for the theatre with a friend.
‘Go,’ I said, sniffing loudly. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’
‘I’m busy tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘But I’ll call in after lunch.’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘I’ll call Phil if I need a shoulder to cry on.’
But I didn’t. I lay on the sofa sobbing, then I dragged myself to bed and sobbed some more.
On Monday morning I dragged myself back to the sofa and watched Jeremy Kyle shouting at people while I ignored the relentless ringing of my phone. I didn’t want to switch it off in case Patrick phoned, so instead I cancelled two calls from Matty – he wasn’t trying that hard to get hold of me – a handful of calls from showbiz journalists, and approximately four hundred from Babs, who’d clearly heard the news. From Matty’s agent, I assumed.
At lunchtime, while I was watching
Neighbours
and playing with a bowl of cereal, she rang again.
‘Amy Lavender,’ she told my voicemail in her most strident tone. A tone that would – and had – made grown men weep. ‘This is unacceptable. I deserve an explanation. And I’m coming to get one. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
There was a muffled conversation with someone in the background.
‘Clapham?’ she said, sounding alarmed. There was more muffled chat, then: ‘An hour. I’ll be there in an hour.’
I cancelled the call listlessly. She won’t come, I thought in despair. She’ll probably think better of it and instead she’ll just fire me, and that will be that. No job, no agent, no boyfriend – back to square bloody one.
So I was fairly surprised when – almost exactly an hour later – my doorbell rang. Thankfully I had forced myself to have a shower and get dressed earlier, so I wasn’t wearing the same pyjamas I’d been wearing for twenty-four hours any more, but I knew I looked far, far removed from the sparkling celeb Babs expected me to be.
I slouched through the hall to the front door and opened it.
‘Babs,’ I said gruffly.
‘Guess again.’
It was Patrick. He was wrapped up in a winter jacket – the temperature had suddenly dropped – and had a black beanie hat on his head. His expression suggested he wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing him.
Surprised that he wasn’t Babs and caught unawares, I jumped sideways and stubbed my toe violently on the skirting board.
‘Ow, ow, ow,’ I said, hopping and trying to rub it better.
‘You need some ice on that,’ said Patrick. He stepped into the hall, took my arm and guided me towards the kitchen.
‘Just so you know,’ I said, through gritted teeth, ‘I’m very angry with you, and if I could walk I wouldn’t have let you in the flat. In my head, I’m slamming the door in your face.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Patrick, the tiniest glimmer of a smile on his face. ‘I’m angry with you, too.’
He helped me onto the sofa and went to the kitchen area.
‘Do you have ice?’ he said.
‘No idea,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve never opened the freezer.’
Patrick rolled his eyes and wrenched it open.
‘You do,’ he said, pulling out a frosty ice cube tray. ‘And a very old bag of peas.’
‘Nice,’ I said.
Patrick knocked the ice into a tea towel and wrapped it up, then he handed it to me and I held it on my toe.
‘Why are you here?’ I said rudely. I wasn’t ready to see him yet – I wasn’t prepared.
Patrick pulled off his hat, then he wandered over to the patio doors and looked out at the garden, which was looking a bit bleak now all the leaves had dropped off the trees.
‘I came to apologise,’ he said, not looking at me.
I wasn’t expecting that.
‘Pardon?’ I said, wondering if I’d misheard.
This time Patrick looked at me.
‘I came to say sorry,’ he said. ‘So, you know … sorry.’
I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
‘For …’
‘For questioning your life choices, and for saying you’re shallow and throwing your life away.’
I winced inwardly at hearing the words again but I still wanted to make the apology count.
‘For being smug and sanctimonious,’ I said.
‘That too,’ Patrick said.
There was a pause.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ I said. ‘I flew off the handle because you were right.’
‘Really?’ said Patrick. ‘What do you mean, I was right?’
I nodded. The ice was beginning to melt and drip down my foot. I watched it for a second, then I looked up at Patrick again.
‘I’ve been so messed up,’ I said. ‘Because it’s turned out that what I thought I wanted wasn’t what I wanted at all.’
Patrick shrugged his jacket off, then sat down on the floor and looked at me.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘When I got the part in
Turpin Road
, and then I met Matty, my life went down a certain path,’ I said slowly. ‘It was really fun, you know? The photo shoots, and the parties, and the money.’
Patrick nodded.
‘But somewhere in among all of that, I forgot that the thing I loved most of all was acting.’
I took the tea towel off my foot and examined my toe so I didn’t have to look at Patrick.
‘I threw Matty out,’ I said gruffly. ‘He’s not what I wanted, either.’
Patrick flushed and I gabbled on.
‘Not for you,’ I said. ‘I didn’t dump him for you. I’m not like Kayleigh – I don’t go around kissing men with girlfriends. I’m sorry if I messed things up with you and Sarah-Lou.’
‘I finished things with her, actually,’ Patrick said, still looking a bit embarrassed.
‘Really?’ I was quite pleased, but I didn’t want him to see it. ‘Was she too twee?’
Patrick flushed again.
‘The opposite,’ he said. ‘Did you read
50 Shades of Grey
?’
I made a face.
‘Some of it.’
‘Well, she’s living it,’ Patrick said. ‘She’s got a room in her flat, just for – you know – sex games.’
‘What?’ I was astonished. ‘Sweet little Sarah-Lou?’
‘She doesn’t look so sweet when she’s coming at you with a whip, let me tell you,’ Patrick said.
I tried to smile, but I was uncomfortable talking about him playing sex games with some other woman.
‘I have never made so many excuses, or left an apartment so fast,’ Patrick said, watching me intently. ‘I think she was a bit cross that we never sealed the deal.’
That was a relief.
‘So we’re both single,’ Patrick said.
‘We are,’ I said, sadly. ‘But I don’t think this is the right time for us.’
Patrick nodded – I liked that I never had to explain myself to him.
‘I mean, I like you, but this is bigger than all that. I think I just need some time by myself to get my head straight. To get Amy Lavender back on track.’
‘Makes sense,’ Patrick said.
‘Those other things – the parties and the paparazzi and the launches – they’re all fun but they’re not important,’ I said. ‘What’s important is doing something I love every day. And I had that at
Turpin Road
and I threw it away because of all the other stuff. And I’m not going to let that happen again.’
‘You don’t have to stop going to parties,’ Patrick said. ‘You love parties.’
‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘I do. But I want to be an actress, not a celebrity. And, yes, I want people to like me, and I want to look good, and I like photo shoots. But surely, if I put my mind to it, and I’m clever about it all, I can have those things and achieve my goals.’
‘Which are?’
I shrugged.
‘BAFTAs? Emmys? An Oscar? Who knows?’
Patrick gave me a broad smile.
‘I have absolutely no doubt you’ll do it,’ he said. ‘No doubt at all.’
‘Well, first I need bloody Babs to get me some proper auditions,’ I said. ‘Instead of sponsorship deals for breakfast cereal and sexy calendars.’
‘I bet Cora can help,’ said Patrick. ‘She used to work for an agent, right? And the kids at school must all have agents. I bet she’s got loads of contacts.’
‘Now that’s an idea,’ I said. A thought struck me.
‘The school’s hers, you know,’ I said. ‘She’s the principal. She and her friend Audrey set it up.’
‘I know,’ Patrick said.
‘You do?’ I was surprised. ‘How do you know?’
‘Her name’s on the sign outside,’ he said, rolling his eyes.
I giggled.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘She’s fabulous, isn’t she? Maybe I will ask her for some help.’
‘You should definitely ask her,’ Patrick said. ‘I know she thinks you’re not fulfilling your potential.’
‘She does?’ I said, surprised. ‘Have you been discussing me?’
‘Nooooo,’ said Patrick. ‘Never. Well, a little bit. Just every now and then.’
‘Babs has been my agent for ever,’ I said. ‘She’s the only agent I’ve ever had. I’m frightened about what would happen to me if I didn’t have her.’
‘Maybe it’s time for a change,’ Patrick pointed out. ‘Find someone who can get you the auditions you want.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask Cora what she thinks.’
‘Speaking of Cora,’ said Patrick, fidgeting in his seat and pulling some folded paper out of his jeans pocket. ‘She’s the other reason I came …’
‘Ohmygod,’ I breathed. ‘Have you found his family? Donnie’s family. Do you know where they are?’
Patrick unfolded the paper, which was covered in his scribbled writing.
‘I have,’ he said. ‘I’ve found them.’
‘Ohmygod,’ I squealed again. ‘Tell me everything. Who have you found?’
Patrick smoothed out the paper and squinted at it.
‘My writing is terrible,’ he said.
‘Patrick,’ I warned. ‘Tell me.’
He threw me an exasperated glance.
‘Right, so Donnie was the eldest of three kids,’ he said. ‘He had a sister who was in her late teens at the end of the war – Lois – and a younger brother who was twelve in 1945.’
‘And?’ I said.
‘Lois died a few years ago,’ Patrick said. ‘But Walter’s still alive. He’s in his eighties now and he also had two kids – a son and a daughter, who are both sixty-something.’
‘And?’ I said again. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘I do,’ said Patrick, making his smug face. ‘Well, I know where the son is. His name is Charlie and I emailed him as soon as I’d tracked him down.’
‘Did he reply?’ I was so impatient to know what was going on that Patrick’s sloooooow telling of the story was driving me mad.
‘I told him I’d stumbled upon some information about his Uncle Donald from the time he spent in London during the war and asked if I could ring him to chat about it,’ Patrick said. ‘And he emailed me his number.’
‘Ohmygod,’ I said. ‘Where is he? America? What time is it there? Can we call him now?’
Patrick grinned at me and pulled out his phone.
‘He’s in New York,’ he said. ‘It’s about ten in the morning there and, yes, we can call him now.’
I was shaking as he dialled the number and introduced himself when Charlie answered.
‘Speakerphone,’ I hissed at him. ‘Put him on speakerphone.’
‘Mr Jackson, my friend is here and she’d like to join in the conversation, would that be okay?’ Patrick said. I was impressed by how polite he was. Cora would be, too, I thought.
With Charlie on loudspeaker, Patrick and I explained how we were friends with Cora and she’d known his uncle during the war.
‘Oh, my,’ Charlie said. ‘That would be Uncle Donnie’s mysterious wife.’
‘You know about her?’ I said, surprised.
‘Sure I do,’ said Charlie. ‘She was something of a legend in our family. Uncle Donnie wrote to my grandma telling her all about this woman he’d met, and how he was going to marry her. And he even wrote to my dad – he was just a kid during the war – but he wrote to him telling him how wonderful this woman was. He sent photos, I think.’
‘They never got married,’ I said, my voice catching in my throat. ‘Donnie was killed the day before their wedding.’
‘Well, now isn’t that just too sad,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll bet she was devastated.’
‘She didn’t know,’ Patrick said. ‘She didn’t know he’d died. She thought he’d gone AWOL – that he’d jilted her.’
There was silence on the other end of the line.
‘Jeez,’ said Charlie after a minute. ‘That’s rough. And it explains a lot. I know my grandma tried to find her. She was cut up when Uncle Donnie died, obviously, and my dad said she wanted to find someone who’d loved him as much as she had.’
‘Cora changed her name,’ I said.
‘To Jackson?’ Charlie said in surprise. ‘I believe Grandma looked for her under that name.’
Patrick and I exchanged a glance and he gave me a slight nod.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not Jackson. Cora changed her name to Devonshire. It was just a name she chose at random. She pretended to be a widow, you see, because …’
I took a breath.
‘… she was pregnant. She was pregnant with Donnie’s baby.’
Charlie was silent, this time for even longer.
‘She had a baby?’
‘She did,’ I said. ‘A girl. Ginny. And Ginny has a daughter, too – Natasha. And Natasha’s got loads of kids. Three, I think.’
‘Four,’ said Patrick.
‘Four,’ I said.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said Charlie. ‘Cousins.’
‘Cousins,’ I said.
‘And Cora?’ Charlie said. ‘What about Cora? Is she still with us?’
Patrick and I laughed, both amazed that we’d not told him about the most important person in all of this.
‘She’s alive and kicking,’ I said. ‘She’s almost ninety but she’s fabulous. Suffers a bit with her arthritis but she’s incredible.’