“Eils—”
“No. You know what? Fuck you, Fyfe Moray.” She pushed off the wall, her heels clicking on the cobbles as she hurried away.
Panic suffused me. “Eilidh!”
I moved to go after her but then saw Mor appear at the end of the lane. Halting, I watched as Eilidh reached her, put an arm around her sister, and pulled her away before she could see me.
“Fuck!” I collapsed against the wall, scrubbing a hand down my face.
In that messed-up moment, something became very clear.
For Eilidh’s sake, I needed to stay the hell away from her.
Fourteen
EILIDH
Present day
Last week the cast and crew ofYoung Adultheld a wrap party at a London hotel. I hadn’t wanted to attend because I didn’t feel welcome by the cast, but the showrunner insisted I celebrate my part in making the show successful.
It was a mistake. Not all the cast were arseholes to me. In fact, most of them weren’t. They understood that I wasn’t just giving up the show. I was giving up my career, and if I was doing that, then this is what I needed. I was grateful to them.
I was devastated that Jasper wasn’t one of them. That my friend who had experienced the craziness of obscurity to instant fame right along with me was acting like a spoiled, entitled, petulant stranger.
He wouldn’t look at me at the party, wouldn’t talk to or acknowledge me. It had been like this on set, but luckily the antagonism had translated well to the screen.
The night before last, I’d returned to my flat to find the door already open and Jasper lounging drunkenly on my sofa.
“What are you doing here?” I’d asked, wary of that nasty look in his eyes.
He’d stood up, wobbling unsteadily as he threw keys at me. I ducked just before they hit my face. “What the fuck?” I cried angrily.
“Just returning your keysh,” he slurred. “Don’t need them no more.”
“Fine. Get out.”
“I protected you!” Jasper yelled, tears filling his eyes. “Anytime you needed me, I protected you and thish is how you repays me?” He swayed, somehow managing to glare and blink rapidly at the same time. “I have nothing without thish show. Wesht End. Thatsh all the offers I’m getting. Fucking Wesht End.”
“Then you should take the offers,” I replied. “Those are good offers. And the other jobs will come in. It just takes time. But I won’t apologize again for choosing to leave. If you were any friend, you’d understand that.”
“I undershtand shit.” He spat at me as he stumbled past. “I undershtand that the pershon I need to get through all thish shit is abandoning me.”
“Jasper, I will never abandon you. I’m always here.”
“Fuck that. You’re already gone.” He slammed out of my flat before I could stop him.
Diana and I spoke about Jasper’s reaction. She’d made me see the narcissism in his response. Deciding I didn’t need anyone making me feel bad about myself when I’d been working so hard for the past nine months to love myself again, I hadn’t gone after him. Maybe it was selfish. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that Jasper was acting even more selfishly.
It was March. I had no jobs lined up. Last month, I’d announced my retirement on social media. Or at least my team had. I didn’t look at the comments. My team would take care of my socials untilYoung Adultaired and then I could delete myself from all those platforms. The thought filled me with overwhelming relief. Yes, there was this deep-seated fear that I’d never reach the same success in life again (the pressure of having reached the pinnacle of success in my early twenties was not lost on me), but I felt mostly relief. I knew I wouldn’t automatically become some anonymous person. Yet over time, I had hope that most people would forget me. That I could walk down the street without being recognized or stalked by paparazzi.
Grabbing my laptop, I settled at the dining table and opened my screenplay. I’d finished writing two episodes of the TV show inspired by Ardnoch Estate. I could send it to my agent, but I still didn’t feel confident enough in it. Uncle Brodan had dabbled in screenwriting—I could share it with him. But there was someone else I’d thought about sending it to.
Theo Cavendish.
He was Mum’s friend Sarah’s husband. Sarah was a famous crime fiction writer who had worked at the estate as a housekeeper all the while making millions off her independently published crime series. She eventually left Ardnoch to start living her life as a writer out in the open. Theo was a well-known and respected screenwriter and producer and an estate member. He and Sarah had fallen in love while adapting her series for screen. They were not the most obvious pairing. Sarah had always been a shy, quiet woman, and Theo was this intimidating, scorchingly hot aristocratic playboy. Yet I’d never seen a man more in love.
He was still intimidating, though.
