To Audrey’s strange, cathartic relief, Jennifer Hallet raised an eyebrow. “That’s ironic, because I think you’ll find I’ve been completely in the right every time we’ve disagreed about anything.”
“I think you’ll find you haven’t. But the point is, it doesn’t matter.”
“I think you’ll find it fucking does.”
“Look.” Audrey brushed an emotion-displaced hank of hair from her forehead. “When I was with Natalie, we never fought because we both took as it read that what she wanted was best and what I wanted was what she wanted. And because we never fought, I thought that was a healthy relationship.”
“And you don’t think I’m a bit of an overcorrection?”
“You might be. Or I might just like you.”
Jennifer shook her head wearily. “You think that now, Lane. But I know how this goes. At the moment, I’m sure this is fun. But it won’t take long before you realise I don’t fit in your world.”
“And what’s my world exactly?” asked Audrey.
“A cosy little flat in Shropshire with hand-stitched quilts and a special place on the chair for a cuddly tortoise. Cupcakes in the oven and walks in the countryside. All that lovely bullshit.”
Maybe Jennifer was rubbing off on her, but Audrey snorted.“You know I’m a lot more than lovely bullshit, right? Remember, I threatened to embroil you in a nightmare storm of litigation to get what I wanted.”
“I’m not saying you can’t hack it. I’m saying you’ll get sick of it. The late nights staring at audience metrics. The constant carousel of focus groups. The endless fucking meetings about BBC neutrality. Screaming down the phone at Americans about syndication rights. And one compromise after another after another until all you can think about when you look at me is how disappointing I turned out to be.”
“That seems highly specific.”
“You don’t have a monopoly on shitty relationships, Lane.”
It was weird as hell hearing Jennifer Hallet say theRword. Especially since she’d made it so abundantly clear that they weren’t dating. “What if I make you a deal,” said Audrey into the crisp silence of the night. “I won’t turn into your toxic ex if you don’t turn into mine.”
“She wasn’t the toxic one. That was the problem.”
“I think making your partner feel that they’re disappointing you is pretty toxic.”
Stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, Jennifer let out a defeated huff. “She just wanted a nice fucking life. In some ways, so do I. But I don’t want it to be something someone does for me. I want it to be something someone builds with me.”
“So youarea romantic?”
“Oh fuck off.”
If it had been anyone else, Audrey would have considered this a poor end to a discussion. With Jennifer Hallet it felt like peace.
“Did we just have our first fight?” asked Audrey, after they’d tromped a bit further down the hill.
“No.” Jennifer sneered at the darkness. “We had our first fight when you waltzed into my trailer and asked me not to call you a spunkstain.”
“Excuse me. I didn’t waltz. You invited me.”
“Aye, for the express purpose of calling you a spunkstain.”
“Those fights don’t count,” Audrey protested. “They were about things. This was about…us.”
“Stop being a spunkstain.”
As they walked, Jennifer radiating slightly less hostility than usual and Audrey smiling to herself for reasons she didn’t want to name in case they went away, Patchley House only grew closer, and bigger, and more golden.
“You’re going to start sighing again, aren’t you?” said Jennifer.
Audrey sighed. “Well, it’s beautiful. You have to admit, it’s beautiful.”
“It’s all right.”
