‘Oh, aye. Done forever. No fucking doubt about it. She and that prick Frank are welcome to each other.’
‘So why would Alicia think that?’
‘Because she took my anger at Frank to mean I wanted Katie back.’
‘You told her about all the shit he said, right?’
‘Well, no. I told her he said stuff about the Highland Mafia. But why would I tell her all the BS about me having a bad aura and negative energy?’
‘Why would you not?’
‘Because it’s not true and she doesn’t need to know it.’
‘But it’s not true.’
Jamie took a swig of whisky. Sean made a good point. Why had he not told Alicia all the things Frank said about him that Katie had believed? It could have altered her decision to leave. Maybe then she would have understood why he disliked Frank so much, what the latent anger she had so astutely sensed was all about.
‘You didn’t even give her a chance to decide for herself, J. What chance do you stand as a couple if you don’t do that?’
‘I was terrified of losing her.’
‘Aye well, sorry for being harsh, but haven’t you lost her anyway?’
Jamie tilted his chin up and let the whisky hit the back of his throat. It was strong and peaty and the tonic he needed. A lot like Sean’s words.
‘When did you get to be so wise?’ He examined the younger brother he remembered running hyperactively around the garden as a small child wearing only a nappy and covered in seven colours of paint. Sean was now as tall as Jamie with a self-assured stance, the same strong jawline all the Butler men had inherited, and eyes that could flick from serious to playful and back, whenever the mood necessitated it.
Sean chuckled at Jamie’s question, put on a dreadful French accent, combined with a Gallic shrug, and said, ‘Je ne sais pas.’
All Jamie could think of to say in return was an affectionate ‘Ach, shutup.’ But in his heart, he was so glad to have had this enlightening conversation with his brother.
Chapter 31
Jamie
Once lunch was over and the family had departed, Jamie sat down with his laptop and did something he never imagined he would do: he googled Alicia’s name. His father loved the artwork and Jamie wanted to make things happen. He would find Alicia and ask if they could strike a strictly business deal. Dread pumped through Jamie’s veins, but he’d been in business all his adult life, so this shouldn’t be beyond him. All he had to do was focus on the implications for Butler’s.
If Alicia hadn’t blocked Jamie’s number, as he discovered when he tried to call her, and taken herself off social media, all this might be easier. He wouldn’t have to trawl the internet for ways to find her, which, as she was a Hollywood star, was not easy. There were hundreds of pictures – taunting him – but no way to get in touch.
Finding Alicia’s agent’s details was simple. She had one who represented her for both acting and art, but going via them would be like knocking on the gates of Buckingham Palace asking for the king. Another search revealed she hada website for her artwork, but the contact area said to go through her agent. Jamie’s head was spinning from all the circles he was going in. At last, though, he panned a nugget of gold: a link to a gallery that sold her work. He shot a message to the gallery and to the agent. But how long might it take for these people to get back to him, if at all? And what was the response likely to be? Go away and stop pestering Alicia. There’d be weirdos trying to contact her all the time. All this internet trawling made Jamie feel like an insignificant member of the adoring masses who wanted a piece of this beautiful woman he’d actually held in his arms. Being one of the crowd was not for him, not when it came to Alicia.
So Jamie opened a new tab and proceeded to book a flight.
Alicia was painting – prolifically. The soft strokes of the brush on canvas were healing her one by one. With every dab of colour or tendril of shade, the tension of Hollywood was draining away like a septic abcess on the way out. Not having to get up to be on set for long days filming or being poked and prodded by hair and make-up was a blessed relief. This way, she could go make-up free, dress in loungewear, have her hair pinned in a messy bun and still be creative and busy. Life on her own terms was blissful.
She’d been home for two weeks, but Alicia found that no matter how she tried, Jamie was never far from her mind. Memories of the cosy nights in with him, of endless kisses, of being wrapped in his protective arms, accompanied most things in her day. And, of course, when she slipped herhand between her legs in the shower or in bed, Jamie was there with her. In her. That was why her hand drifted there. Release was the only way to satiate the thoughts. But the relief was short term. Sometimes she even woke up in the night and had to rub the longing away again.
The other aspect of Alicia’s life that was healing was therapy. She began weekly sessions with Sunni’s recommended therapist, Dr Arnstein, who helped her work through a lot of the feelings brought up by her relationship with Chad and the leaked photos. Revisiting events was confronting, but even in the space of two sessions Dr Arnstein had helped her to reframe some of her self-image. There was no evidence that she was an awful person, Jamie had clearly adored her, the actions that led to the photos being leaked were Chad’s. Alicia had trusted him and that was a positive trait. Dr Arnstein encouraged her to surround herself with those who loved and cared for her, so that was what she did.
Together, Alicia and Dr Arnstein pinpointed that art was incredibly therapeutic and discussed how it might help with her healing. So, delving into her innermost soul, and despite thoughts of Jamie interrupting her overall focus, Alicia completed an empowering painting of which she was devastatingly proud. And when she approached a mutual gallerist friend of hers and Sunni’s he jumped at the chance to hang it.
‘I’m trying to reclaim my identity,’ she told David, the owner of Zetticci Gallery in West Hollywood.
‘Well, this will certainly do that, darling. And I love the idea of calling itNot for Saleand not selling it. It puts you back in control. Be prepared for lots of enquiries, though.’
‘I guess that’s the aim.’ Alicia smiled nervously. ‘Tointrigue, to get people through the door, then make a point. I will sell it eventually, but I’m not telling them that.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be inundated with queries.’ David marvelled at the painting. ‘This is exceptional.’
