‘Be kind to yourself,’ Mum said to me, before she hung up. ‘No more of these lone walks in the woods, please. And don’t forget that the hateful voices might be loud, but it’s the kind ones that are strong. There’s much more goodness in this world than bad, Claude, I promise.’
Is she right?
It hasn’t felt much like it, these past twenty-four hours.
‘Don’t look,’ I kept telling Nick, every time he picked up his phone to track the latest on Twitter.
‘I’m not looking,’ he kept replying, throwing his phone aside. For five minutes.
I look across at him now, in his twenty-first century uniform of jeans and a loose jumper, and, seeing the defensive way he’s standing in the doorway of Doverley’s library – his arms folded, his face set – once again ache for him. Twitter did take that grim cuteness poll down in the end, but not before it had notched up several million votes: 48% to him, 48% to Felix. 4% ‘on the fence’.
‘You’re the only one whose child I’ve ever wanted,’ I choked out to him at some point between sunset and sunrise last night. We weren’t in bed, but slumped on the floor at the foot of it, our phones in our laps, our heads tipped back against the mattress.
He turned, looking at me.
‘You’re the only one whose childI’veever wanted,’ he said.
But I can’t give you one, I thought, but couldn’t bring myself to say. Not that.
Not again.
I’ve said it more than enough.
Just as he’s tried to convince me it doesn’t matter to him.
I can’t be convinced, though.
I won’t be.
Never have I felt surer of that than I do now, seeing – properlyseeing– his pain.
Honestly, I don’t think he’ll ever be convinced, either.
So where does that leave us?
The question is too huge, and too awful, to think about, so I park it, and move my attention from Nick to Felix, who’s standing beside him, also with his arms folded, and also scowling. None of us want to be here for this emergency meeting that Blake, the movie’s head publicist, has called, and Felix, unshaven and rumpled, is making no secret of it.
I don’t think he can have slept much last night either. He posted on his own Twitterfeed at 3 a.m.
Claudia and Nick are my friends and two of the best people I know.They’ve been through enough, so please leave them alone and stop this abhorrent intrusion on their privacy.
He got a lot of likes.
He’s still getting them.
That poll still notched up more votes though.
I catch his eye, and, fleetingly, his face softens in a smile.
He finally replied to my apology text on Monday, the morning after Nick and I reshot Iris and Robbie’s reunion.
I miss you too,he said, filling me with relief.I’ve written this message about five thousand times already, with too many words, when only a few are needed. So I’ll cut to the chase. I’m sorry as well. You deserved a more understanding friend than you got. I guess we’re both idiots.
I’m the bigger one, I typed back.
No,he replied.You don’t get to call that.
Things aren’t completely back to normal between us. There’s this lingering strain we can’t seem to shake, no matter how many times I drop by his trailer to say hi, or we attempt to chat like we used to between takes. But his smile now means a lot.
