I switch on the enormous television, channel hopping until I find a re-run of a topless Nate Jackson scaling a skyscraper to save the woman he loves.
What I wouldn’t give to have him charge in here and save me.
Though truthfully, I doubt even he could salvage the shitshow that my life has become.
ChapterFive
NATE
I spend the entire flight from LAX to Shannon regretting accepting a lead role in a romance movie. If Celeste’s right, and I am an emotionally stunted one-trick pony, I’m about to spectacularly embarrass myself with the entire world as my witness.
Like that time Pierce Brosnan transitioned from James Bond to a badly singing father in Mamma Mia.
A cold shudder rips across my spine even thinking about it. Pierce went from international sex symbol to cringe-central overnight.
I can actually sing, but no amount of money in the world would convince me to do it in public, let alone in a musical.
Jayden sent me the script for ‘Falling For The Rock Star At Christmas.’ It’s actually pretty good. Most importantly, there’s no singing in it.
My co-star, Olivia Hansen-Lovett, has a reputation for being an absolute diva, but I’ll work with it. It’s not like I actually have to fall in love with her. I just have to pretend.
I indicate left, taking the exit that’s signposted Ballybowen. The car Jayden hired for me is an Audi Q7. It’s spacious and luxurious without being too flashy to attract attention. His ‘predictable’ comment springs to mind, and I scoff. Germans make exceptional cars. And athletes need protein.
One day I’ll do something wild and surprise him. Though accepting this role probably ticked that off my to-do list pretty damn quick, but that wasn’t why I did it.
Apart from escaping the Tinseltown tittle-tattle, one of the major advantages of accepting a role filmed in the arse end of nowhere, here in the west of Ireland, I won’t need to be surrounded by an army of security.
That freedom alone is worth the risk of making a fool of myself in a romance movie.
My phone rings through the car’s hands-free system. The word ‘Mam’ lights up my dashboard. I might not have been home in years, but she and Dad come to the States quarterly, and we speak on the phone most days.
I hit the button on the steering wheel to accept.
‘Hello?’
‘So, has the wanderer finally returned?’ Mam’s familiar shriek pierces the darkness with a warmth that seeps straight into my soul.
‘I’m on Irish soil,’ I confirm. ‘Though I have no idea where the fuck about.’
‘Language, Nathan Gerard Jackson! Your mama didn’t raise you to have such a foul mouth!’ she scolds teasingly.
‘No, but she did raise me to have the confidence to say and do whatever I pleased, thankfully.’ It’s true. We’re an extremely liberated family. Always have been. Always will be. Mam was a midwife until she retired last year. There’s no topic that’s off-limit over the dinner table, which can be a blessing and a curse. I really do not need to know that when my parents couldn’t sleep the night before, ‘they did what they were put on this planet to do.’
Too. Much. Information.
Would I change them?
Not for anything in the world.
‘Your dad and I can’t wait to see you. We’re gonna head over to Ballybowen the second he finishes the job he’s doing for Mrs Farrow. He doesn’t want to leave her kitchen half-finished and, you know, with Christmas coming and all that goes with it…’
My parents don’t need to work. I paid off their mortgage with the paycheque I got from my first movie,Blazing Fire. Mam always says the day Dad gives up work is the day he’ll die, because the man thrives on it.
I ensure they have enough money in their account to live like a couple of rock stars, but they barely touch it, preferring to live a normal life. God forbid the neighbours might assume they’d grown ‘notions’ of themselves or something.
‘And you will come to us for Christmas, I hope? After you wrap up the filming?’ Mam’s hopeful tone stokes the guilt in my gut.
I should have made more of an effort. It’s been years. At first, the thought of Sally-Ann and Niall used to slice me in bits.
