She takes a page-by-page tour of her Academy Award win,her casting inFae, and all the rest, right through to the news in the final book that we’d both been cast inGrosvenor. I can’t lie. I couldn’t find an article that didn’t totally obsess over how much of a shit-show it would be, having us act opposite each other. Some of the more salacious headlines make her smile, and that’s a good thing.
‘I can’t believe you did this.’ She reaches over and takes my hand. ‘I’m blown away, Josh. I would never, ever have imagined you cared this much.’
‘Always.’ I brush my thumb over her knuckles.‘Always.I’m not expecting a free pass—I know I’ll never make it okay, what I did—but I hope it shows you I was always thinking of you. I’ve always been your biggest cheerleader. And I’ve never gotten over you.’
‘Yeah.’ She fingers the cover and then shoots me a mischievous look. ‘Full disclosure: I didn’t scrapbook about you.’
‘Voodoo dolls felt more fitting, right?’
She grins. ‘Exactly. And more effective. I hope you felt it when I stuck the pins from my noticeboard in your eyes.’
‘Damn, girl.’
‘But I don’t get it—what is it with you and scrapbooking? I would never have made that connection. Ever.’
I think about how to explain it. ‘I think all kids like collecting stuff. Right? Making memories. I used to scrapbook all our family trips. And it was just for fun, at first. But then I started to notice the memories I had from looking through my scrapbooks were a helluva lot happier than the ones I remembered straight from the trips. It was like I was re-remembering them.’
‘Because the mind doesn’t remember things as they actually happened.’
‘Exactly. And it felt like if I made all these pretty scrapbooks, I’d genuinely enjoy reminiscing about trips where really I’d been exhausted from filming, or Mom was beinga total bitch, or Katie and I were fighting. Does that make sense? The memories didn’t have to be accurate for me to enjoy them. I was happy to just look at the photos and not dig too deep on what was going on behind those smiley faces.’
‘It makes me sad you had to do that. From where I’m standing, it seems you grew up with a lot of privilege.’
‘Privilege, definitely. Happiness, joy, just being a kid: not so much. But with you, the books were more about celebrating you. And remembering what we had. I didn’t need to rewrite history with those. Every memory is perfect as it is. But the books allowed me to remember without it being tarnished by what came after, by all the loneliness and fucking desolation and bleakness.’
‘I know what you mean. That was another reason I was angry with you. You robbed me of those memories, because I never knew if they were real. I never knew if you were stringing me along the whole time, so I couldn’t trust myself to enjoy them.’
‘They were real, baby.’ I gaze into her beautiful, clear blue eyes. ‘Even more real for me than for you, if that’s possible.’
CHAPTER 44
Josh
Alittle later, I run her a bath. She’s wiped from the emotional exhaustion of rehashing all those old memories. Those old wounds. And from trying to make sense of the head-fuck I’ve delivered to her.
I fill her huge marble tub almost to the top, pouring in a lot of the geranium bubble bath she’s asked me to use. It smells amazing, and I wish things were different and I could climb in there with her. Soap her up and enjoy her body. But right now, she’s sick and exhausted, and all that matters is her recovery. I test the water to make sure it’s not too hot. I can imagine she’s pretty sore. You know. Down there. And I don’t want it to sting.
I stick my head around the door to her bedroom. ‘It’s ready, baby.’
She walks slowly through and stops when she’s sees the candles I’ve lit. No big deal. I want it to be relaxing for her.
‘Ugh, heaven.’ She tugs her sweater off over her head. ‘Give me a minute, will you? I need the loo.’
I back out the door. ‘Sure.’ I know she’s wearing a pad,and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable about any of that. I close it behind me.
A minute later, she calls my name. ‘Josh? Come in and keep me company, will you?’
She’s in the tub, her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head, her neck resting on a rolled-up towel. Just her head and shoulders are visible above the bubbles.
‘You can join me if you like?’ Her expression is hesitant.
‘Nah.’ I sit on the closed lid of the toilet. ‘Don’t know what colour you’re gonna turn that water, do I? Red?Brown?’
Her mouth opens wide and she gasps. I’m not sure if she’s ready to joke about it yet, but I figure we may as well laugh about this shit (like, literally).
‘That is so unfair! You’re such an arsehole.’
‘Baby, if you haven’t worked that out already, there’s no hope for you.’
