“You’d have made a great dad,” Bo had been quick to reassure him. Her own father had died when she’d been young, and her memories of him were all warm. Geoffrey, always kind, always compassionate and always interested in her life and welfare, had been like a substitute father to her. She couldn’t imagine him not being a wonderful dad. Geoffrey, however, had given her a sad, knowing smile.
“No,” he told her. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Now, Bo sighed as she thought about Geoffrey dead, and of the home into which he’d put so much love and hope being sold away. “He’ll sell,” she told Willa again, before miserably sinking back onto her sofa.
“What happens to you when he does?” Willa asked, and Bo shrugged.
“Well, I think I can safely say I’ll be on the first plane back home. I think you and I can both agree that my attempt at an acting career has been a bust. If it hadn’t been for Geoffrey letting me live out here nearly rent-free, and for Ida giving me a job in her flower shop, I’d have been home with my tail between my legs years ago. Both London and acting haven’t worked out as I hoped.”
“Your acting career hasn’t been a total bust,” Willa argued. “You just haven’t had the same chances as me, that’s all.”
Bo knew she was telling a lie. Willa was nothing if not unshaken in her positivity, determined to see the best in everything and everyone. She was a kind-hearted soul, and Bo knew she was trying her best to keep Bo’s hopes and dreams alive. Where acting was concerned, however, Bo knew the truth.
“I’ve had some of the same chances as you,” Bo replied, reaching over to squeeze Willa’s hand. “We met at an audition, remember? The honest truth though is that I just haven’t got the same talent as you. I’ve been a substandard actress at best.”
“But you’re beautiful and—” Willa began to argue, but Bo cut her off quickly.
“Beauty can only get you so far in a career such as ours, you know that. Will, I watch you in movies, and you just . . . justbecomeyour roles. I never had that gift. I can never really pretend to be anything other than me.” Bo paused. “I wish I could pretend I was someone else. Me isn’t exactly a great place to be right now.”
“Well,” Willa squeezed Bo’s hand back. “Maybe your Mr Two out of Ten at 3 a.m. will let you stay in this place until the house is sold? It’s not like anyone uses this summer house, is it? You’re well away from the house and any potential buyers here.”
Bo found it hard to be as optimistic as her friend however, slowly shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No. He’ll want me out. He isn’t sentimental or even friendly, Will. You know something though? It might sound crazy, but I can give up the summer house. Losing this place, although scary, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’m a big, strong girl, and I can take care of myself. No, the worst thing about this whole situation is losing Geoffrey’s garden. He and I spent hours and hours working there. His camellia shrub . . . Madelief . . . you should see how pink she gets when she blooms. Her petals are like candy-striped strawberries. For the past three years I’ve been watering Madelief and trimming and feeding her so that Geoffrey wouldstill see her flower, even when he couldn’t take care of her himself. Now?” Bo gave a deep sigh. “Now, it’ll never bloom again. A developer will snap up this house and all the land and build on it. All that work, and for what?”
“Oh, Bo,” Willa replied. “This was meant to be a temporary thing while you waited for your big break. You had to go and get attached, didn’t you?”
“I can’t help it. I attach myself to the most unsuitable things.” Abruptly, Bo thought of Max. After they’d slept together, he’d lingered in her thoughts longer than he reasonably should have, and she caught herself hoping he might come back to Geoffrey’s house, even if only to see her.
It had been a useless dream, however. Max had been true to his word. He said he wouldn’t come back while Geoffrey lived and breathed, and he hadn’t. Now though . . .
Now though. Bo took a deep breath when she thought of seeing Max once more, of what would happen when she and the other interested partieswere face to face again. A misleading legal term, really, since theinterested partyin question had shown zero interest in her since sleeping with her all those months ago. In fact, his interest in her had pretty much been withdrawn from the moment of, well,withdrawal.
“What will you do?” Willa asked again, and Bo thought hard.
“Go to the meeting. Face theother interested parties.Get my marching orders and walk out with my head held high.”
Willa nodded approvingly. “That seems sensible. Want to stay with me for a while? I’m at my London flat for a few months while filming this movie, but you could sleep on my sofa.”
Bo gave her friend a soft smile. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way of all your film premieres and red-carpet moments with Hollywood’s finest.”
Willa rolled her eyes. “Those are few and far between, thank God. And of course I’m sure. You’re my best friend, Bo. The onlyperson who keeps me sane in this crazy life of mine, well, except for—” Willa stopped, taking a deep breath. “Look, I’d love to have you stay with me.”
Bo chewed on her lip for a moment. “Thanks, I’d love that to. It’ll be a trek to Ida’s, and a trek to New Covent Garden Market too, but I can’t afford to do anything else right now.”
At that, a look crossed Willa’s face. “You’re not still sending money to your mother, are you?”
Bo blushed, and Willa shook her head, exasperated.
“Bo . . .”
“You and I both know my mum’s hopeless with money. She never has enough. Besides, I only send her what I have to spare.”
“Which is nothing,” Willa stated bluntly. “You work two jobs and sleep in a rent-free shed, and yet every penny you save goes straight into and then through your mother’s slippery fingers.”
“She’s my mum,” Bo argued, loyal to the core.
Willa gave her a look that was both fond and furious. “No. You’re kind, and she’s an emotional pickpocket.”
Bo’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t bother to tell Willa it was just easier this way. Easier to keep transferring small amounts she didn’t really have than to endure the tearful phone calls, the long, guilt-laced silences, as well as the pointed reminders of everything her mother had sacrificed for her. Margot Armstrong had weaponized disappointment like no one else, and sending her money simply kept the peace. Even if it was money Bo didn’t really have.
