“I’m no good on my own, but I’m better alone than like this. I did what I was supposed to do for Mary, but this? This is not me. Mary always said I was stronger than her, but I wasn’t. I’ve done so much in my life, done all the things. I just wanted a few more years. I wanted to grow old with her by my side. I wanted us to travel…”
“Peter, it’s fine.” Anne was nervously patting my arm.
“But it’s not, is it? I have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea because I don’t… I can’t… I can’t. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I haven’t even…”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Peter. This is not quite what we expected, and believe me, I wanted something completely different to come out of this. It’s only been a few weeks though, and we’re still in this experience together. We don’t even know each other yet?”
“What’s the point?” I was suddenly waving my hands in the air.
“Well, to meet someone, innit?” I hadn’t even realised that Caspar was still there.
“Enough,” I said quietly, trying to lift myself up, my hands on the table. It wobbled precariously. Just like everything else in my life. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t just get up. We’re supposed to stay seated until they say cut.”
“Anne, I wish you all the best,” I mumbled, trying to stand up as she tugged at my arm, looking around the room. Her hair swishing around her face, the camera still in my face.
There was still a microphone slung around my neck, and I ripped it off, standing there with a wire hanging from my fingers.
What had I been thinking? I just wanted out. I wanted my phone back so I could ring my boys. I wanted a decent cup of tea in a mug. I wanted my bloody slippers and my scrubs, and for heaven’s sake. I wanted something familiar. Anything but this.
“Come on.” Oliver. Oh, thank God. Or maybe not.
“I’m leaving,” I said, hoping it came out with conviction, and the hand rubbing my face still had wires attached and oh God. Oh God.
Tears. Why on earth was I crying?
He said nothing, this Oliver. His hand grabbed my arm, and he gently led me away as the voices around me grew agitated.
I just concentrated on him, walking ahead of me, his hand still around my wrist. The navy colour of his suit jacket. The crisp shirt he was wearing. That dark hair on his head that fell gently over the nape of his neck.
Someone from a completely different world, with his whole life ahead of him. All that optimism. Youth. Ambition. Everything I no longer had.
“I’m pathetic,” I whispered.
“No,” he said back, pushing the door open, ignoring the shouting behind us. The loud voices. Laughter coming from somewhere as another camera got shoved in my face.
“Stop!” Oliver said sternly, waving his arm around.
I just followed. One foot in front of the other.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he groaned, pushing the door to number four open. Our…room. Which wasn’t even a room, more like a cupboard. A holding place. Still, I walked through the door, and Oliver shut it behind us, hitting the lens off the camera. The bang of wood hitting metal. Agitated voices.
“Peter! Peter!” Loud knocking on the door, as the door handle was pushed down. Oliver immediately pushed it back shut with a determined shove of his foot.
“The bathroom,” he said quietly.
“We’re coming in, Oliver.” The door opened. He turned around and kicked the door shut with an angry growl.
“Do not come in. This is not on. Absolutely not on.”
I was shaking, uncontrollably by now, and the bathroom? A small modern entrapment that didn’t make me feel any calmer. Stark white light. And I didn’t trust there weren’t any cameras around here either, and of course I still had the wired mic in my grip.
I was tired. I was sick of this. All of this.
“Give me the mic,” he demanded, Oliver. This Oliver. This small beacon of kindness.
Perhaps I was being unfair. Maybe I was the one in the wrong here.
