“Oh, he’s being a twat, alright,” Orla says. “As I alluded to, we have fingers in a lot of pies. And the ammunition is building.”
My attention is piqued. I stare at the blank screen as my heart thumps faster.
“You mean you’re watching him? The Agency?”
“Let’s say we have connections who are.”
Her words sound so knowing. Almost… sinister. But I stay out of that. I have no care left whatsoever for my utter dickhead of an ex. No compassion, no empathy, no hidden regrets or concerns.
“As I said,” Orla continues. “Give it some time. Stay patient, that’s all I ask, and maintain your loyalty to The Agency.”
“I will do, and my loyalty is unshakable. And I love being back at work. I can’t get enough of it.”
She laughs, and wow, I’ve missed her. She’s been there for me right from the start of my entertainer journey. My primary contact.
“Good job,Holly. Keep on getting those five-star reviews. I’ll still be monitoring the incoming proposals, don’t worry, and I’ll also re-open your account to your regulars, if you’d like?”
To my regulars…
I get another rollercoaster lurch at her words, because I was beginning to wonder if it was a simple coincidence. Of all my incoming proposals in the past few days, my main clients have been silent. And I miss them. I miss them all. Daddy, Mr Monthly, Jack and Eric, Mr Chase-Me-Through-Cow-Poop. So many clients I’m pining for.
Just not as much as Heath.
Just a glimmer of thought about him brings the rollercoaster lurch back so fast, I feel sick.
“I’d love to have my regulars’ proposals hitting my inbox,” I tell her. “Familiar faces will be very welcome. I feel like I’ve been living in a cave to be honest, cut off from the world. It’s been horrible.”
“No surprise to me. It must have been hell. Where are you now?”
“An Airbnb north of the city. Tucked at the back of a residential street in the suburbs. It’s only small. Inconspicuous.” I take a breath before I dare to carry on. “When you said to um, have patience, and that you have fingers in pies and all that, does that mean…”
“Does that mean what, darling? That you don’t have to stay in an Airbnb for the rest of your life?”
I nod, a fresh pang rising up, and there’s a lump at the back of my throat. Part relief, part missing people, part appreciation. Beyond words.
“I just want to go home,” I choke. “At some point, I mean. I just want to go home.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” She sighs. “Take that back actually, I probably can’t. I have no idea how shit it would be to have your whole life uprooted like that.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to go home at some point? Tiff keeps telling us that the reporters have gone, and that we should go back.”
“Creamgirl is very… confident. Determined.”
I laugh at that.
“Ballsy and prepared to stick a middle finger up at anyone who needs one, you mean? Yeah, I know. I love her.”
“So do we. But, again, I’d suggest a little bit of patience. It’s your call, and your decision to make, but I’d personally hold off awhile. The Belgravia towers are quite high profile. Easy to observe while people are still keen to watch them.”
“I get it. We’ll stay clear until things have eased up a bit. Hopefully not too much longer if Connor keeps being a douche, hey?”
I know she’s smiling when I hear her happy sigh.
“No, hopefully not too much longer. He’s keeping the spotlight firmly on his own drama. But in the meantime, you don’t have to restrict yourself to one Airbnb, right? There isn’t exactly a shortage in the city. Live it up. Enjoy yourself. Keep it varied. Both at home as well as work.”
Enjoy myself.It’s a phrase that wouldn’t even have occurred to me a few weeks ago.
“I’m just tweaking your inbox on the system,” Orla says. “Your regulars will have access again… now.”
