“There’s no but,” I repeat and take a sip of my coffee. Tate, instead of filling the silence with his usual chatter, doesn’t say a word. He sits and waits expectantly. He wins. I give in first.
“It is beautiful,” I sigh wistfully and catch his smirk of triumph, which of course I ignore. “The parkland rolls down to a lake, you know the type. The one we all expect a soaking wet Mr Darcy to emerge from. The house is impressive, with drawing rooms and old furniture. There are paintings and tapestries and . . .” I trail off as it’s no good thinking about it.
“Can you sell a few paintings to raise the money?” Tate asks.
“A couple might raise a million between them,” I reply, as that was one of the questions I asked Mr Nagle yesterday. There was a full inventory of the house and estate, which had been needed in order to value it. There are a few pieces of furniture and some statues, but I’d be lucky to raise half the amount I need.
“How long have you got to pay the money?”
“Six months from the end of this month.” Mr Nagle had been clear on that point.
“Hmmm, that’s not long. There’s only one thing to do then.”
“What’s that?” I say, hearing the eagerness in my own voice.
“You’ll have to start a For my Fans.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I snort, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t come up with an amazing plan. No one makes that kind of money on there, and I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I’d even be comfortable doing it. I can’t believe I’m contemplating it. It’s ridiculous, like I told him. The whole idea is impossible.
“Hmmm, looks like you’ll have to sell it then.” Tate shrugs and I know he’s right and it’s the only option. But he’s correct, something about the house has worked its way into me. I’m not sure what it is yet, but it makes me want to explore it more.Which is why it took me so long to fall asleep last night. That reminds me that Tate wasn’t here then.
“Where were you last night and what’s your news?” I ask, partly to change the subject away from my own troubles and because now I’ve remembered I want to know.
“I was at Divas celebrating,” he replies. That would explain why he was out all night. Divas is a gay club and bar we frequent, and while it officially closes at three, it often continues after the doors are locked. We’ve spent many nights partying there.
“Celebrating what?” I ask. I wasn’t aware of any roles he was going for and I thought he was working at the restaurant last night.
“Do you remember that part I auditioned for last month? You know that dreary film set in the forties?” I nod because I do remember. I also recall how he didn’t think it dreary until he didn’t get the part, but then that’s Tate.
“Did someone drop out?” I ask the question but I know it can’t be true as he’s still on a downer about it, and if he was involved, he’d be telling me it’s the best film ever.
“Not of this film, but of another, and the producer remembered me and offered me the part in that film.”
“That’s awesome. Which one?”
“It’s some modern day, live action retelling of theLittle Mermaid.” He stops and a coy look comes over his face, so I wait as I know this is the big news. “And it’s in Hollywood.”
“No fucking way.” It’s my turn to repeat Tate’s words from earlier. This is huge. It’s the big break both of us have been wanting since we met in drama school ten years ago.
“Yes way,” Tate screeches and fans his face. This time I hug him tightly.
“I’m so proud of you Tate,” I say and mean it. He’s worked so hard to try and get that big break and I couldn’t be more proud.
“Thanks,” he says dabbing at his eyes when I release him. “They’ve already started shooting, because like I said someone dropped out, so they need me right away. I leave tomorrow.”
“Fuck, that’s soon,” I can’t help saying, and he nods, but he’s smiling and I’m happy for him too.
“Thanks,let me know how it goes.” I finish my conversation with Mr Nagle and throw my phone down on my bed. I’ve just instructed him to find an estate agent. Selling the hall is the only option I have.
I walk through to the kitchen. The flat already feels empty even though Tate has only been gone a few hours. Last night I helped him pack everything he thought he might need in California, and I hugged him tighter than usual just before his Uber arrived to take him to the airport. I’m excited for him, but I’m going to miss him. The place feels dull without his glitter and sequins. I wander back into my room, unable to settle and focus on anything. My phone rings and I dive for it on the bed, grateful for the distraction. It’s my agent.
“Hey, Kai, how are you?” she asks.
“Alright. I’m ready for the audition,” I reply. I’m not, but I will be, and there’s still a few more days. I’m not telling her about myinheritance. I’m not telling anyone apart from Tate. I don’t want anyone to treat me any differently.
“About that,” she starts, and I already know what she’s going to say—the same words I’ve heard too many times. “They don’t want you anymore. They want someone more . . . rugged for the role. I’m sorry.”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says. It’s always been the same, just dressed up in different words. I’m too pretty. I’m not well built enough. I’m too feminine looking. I’m too pale. I sigh. I can’t help my complexion or my cheekbones. I know there are roles out there for me but finding them is hard. After she’s finished the call, I sit on my bed, staring out of the window but not seeing much except a load of other flats and the concrete landscape of London stretching off into the distance. Suddenly it feels too oppressive, like the walls are closing in on me. I can’t stay here anymore. Not with Tate away for a few months.
