"And she was very sorry that the gallery and its artists have an uncertain future, and was understanding that we might do desperate things to secure it."
"Right. That's...very good of her."
"Yes. And kind. There's nothing of Basil I recognise in her."
Bess hasn't looked at me yet. I sense there's more she wants to unburden herself with, so I wait.
She plucks a piece of grass from in front of her. "Bas and I have had a final reckoning. I told him that by being a miserable, selfish prick he missed out on sharing a life with his daughter and that she was lucky not to have had a relationship with him. The fact he never gave himself that opportunity to know and love her feels like he meted out his own punishment. A fitting punishment."
"It is," I agree.
After a few moments of quiet, Bess says, "So, I guess after all these years of visiting him, I've reached some kind of closure."
"How does that feel?"
"Exhausting. I've had a lifetime of harbouring anger towards this man and now I have none left. I've been drained of it. All that negative energy's gone and nothing's come in on its heels to replace that burning drive. I think," she takes a deep breath and sighs an exhale, "I just feel sad."
Undoubtedly. There's everything to mourn. Her attachment to the soldier, the forthcoming fracturing of her community, the loss of her online fans.
"It's been a wild ride these last few days." She turns to look at me for the first time and offers a wry smile that doesn't reach her eyes. They are naked. Without her usual eye-liner.
"Yeah," I whisper.
She looks away again. "I need time. Time to think about what to do next. But there is none. The clock's ticking down very fucking fast."
"You haven't got a Plan B?"
Bess laughs shortly. "Plan B currently is using the money we made over the last couple of months to buy usmoretime until we think of Plan C. But it won't last. The online purchases have practically dried up overnight with no social media feeding the fans and drumming up new interest. Plus, any whiff of potential scandal and people run a mile."
"You'll think of a Plan C. You all have creativity as your biggest strength. You'll be able to imagine a way forward."
"You have creative strength, too, Ed. You're a writer. It doesn't matter that you haven't published anything. You're one of us. And quite frankly, we could do with all the help we can get."
I rub my knees. "I don't think I should be involved."
"Why not?"
I look at her. Her face is pale, her lips without their usual soft pink. This whole thing has taken a big toll on her. "Because I did enough damage last time. Watching you go through what you did because of me was...too much. I want to support you, and I will, but it needs to be from the sidelines."
Bess frowns. "What do you mean 'because of me'? You were one of many and as far as I've heard, Mistral and Carlos were the main actors. Don't be dramatic."
And here it is. The moment I should have taken three days ago. There's no going back now and I don't want to. My need for honesty is driving me forward, overriding my impulse to hide. My pulse quickens and I take three shallow breaths before I can get the words out. "Carlos didn't write the love letters. I did."
The words sit bright and sharp amid the birdsong and the rustle of leaves.
I will myself not to look away from her. To not hide from the grenade I've just tossed between us.
Bess' bottom lip falls away from her top one. "I don't understand. Why would Carlos lie about writing the letters? And..." she trails off, unable to articulate the next obvious question.
"Because I was a coward about coming clean."
Bess is very still.
"I'm sorry for not –"
She erupts, cutting me off. "Is that everything? Is this the last of the revelations? Because I'm pretty fed up with people dropping bombshells, Ed. I am at capacity for new plot twists." She raises an arm and indicates her scalp-height capacity.
And here’s my chance. The one I’ve been dodging for far too long and I am going to take it like the man I need to be.
