‘Youknow,’ she continues. ‘He’s…y’know!’ I shake my head, still uncomprehending, and she continues, ‘He’s stolen your job, hasn’t he? He’s the arse that the other arse, Spencer, brought in to cover for your suspension. And now they’veoffered him the job. He’s stolen it out from under you. And I will continue to give him orange eyebrows; my professional reputation be damned.’ She frowns. ‘Sweetheart, you know this, don’t you? You were talking about it upstairs earlier with Sam? Why do you look so confused?’
I stare at her. I can feel Edward’s eyes boring into the side of my skull. ‘How would I know this?’ I say, my voice trembling, my legs like jelly. ‘I’ve not seen a single episode ofMorning Teasince I left. I couldn’t watch it, it was too real; too horrible. I didn’t want to see who they had covering me on the sofa but I never thought…’
She shakes her head. ‘But I’ve talked to you about the guy they brought in to cover for you. I told you the viewers don’t like him.’
A vague memory of a conversation returns. I remember Jools saying something about this, something about the therapist they’d got covering my job on the sofa, but I wasn’t listening, not properly. And I had no idea it was… Edward. No, she must’ve got it wrong, it can’t be, he wouldn’t do this to me. He would’ve said, he would’ve told them no, he wouldn’t… I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.
‘But you obviously know each other.’ Jools is looking between us now, confusion lighting her features. ‘How then, if not from the show?’ Her voice suddenly seems a million miles away.
‘Look, Liv—’ Edward’s saying, and he sounds a long way away too.
This can’t be real, can it? But there’s no way Jools couldhave it wrong. She’s literally there, on the set ofMorning Teaevery single morning, five days a week. She’s there more than almost anyone else. Even the producers swap in and out, but Jools refuses to let anyone else run the make-up room without her. Not even Andi. She says it’s a Generation X thing.
So… it’s true? Edward has been doing my job all this time and now he’s stolen it from me, full-time? He’s been doing it behind my back, while giving me therapy? While reassuring me and encouraging me and getting me to open up, he was spending his mornings at the studios. Was he laughing at me behind my back? Making me think he was a good guy? Telling me to start being honest and real, while the whole time he was… no fucking way.
‘You?’ I turn to face him again and I’m silently begging him to tell me she’s wrong. I want him to deny it and laugh it off and gaslight me and tell me absolutely anything, just so I can pretend for five minutes that this isn’t true. But the expression on his face tells me everything I need to know.
‘I was trying to tell you,’ he starts to say. ‘I tried to tell you right away. I’ve been trying to tell you since the very first day, but you point blank refused to talk about the show and I—’
I involuntarily take a step back, still staring at him. Still trying to make sense of this. I told him how I felt, we kissed, and then I find out he’s not who I thought. Looking at him in the hideous fluorescence of the lift lights, suddenly he’s someone I don’t recognise. Someone malevolent and manipulative and cruel. He’s no longer my kind, sweet, benevolent Edward, he’s something else entirely. He’s a man who wouldtrick me, who would lie to me. Who used me to get a gig on TV. Did he say yes to the counselling sessions, just so he could steal it out from under me? I step out of the lift, apologising to Jools in a mutter under my breath. I vaguely hear her call my name, and her look of concern is the last thing I see as I take off running down the hallway, tears blurring my vision. I make it out of the building and almost to the train station, before I really start crying.
I need to put as much distance between me and that stranger as I can.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I hear Sam come back into the apartment an hour or so later. She knocks on my bedroom door and softly calls my name, but I don’t answer. I hold my breath, lying in the dark, and wait for her to take the hint.
She does, and a part of me feels disappointed. I wanted her to go away and leave me alone, but I also want her to force affection on me and hand feed me soup as I weep.
I think being human is to have a desk drawer inside you of confusing, tangled wires. You can’t remember whether you need any of them anymore or what they’re for – does this charge my phone, or my emotional centre? I can’t ever remember so back it goes, lobbed into the drawer on top of the messy pile.
I’ve lost my job, I’ve lost Edward, I’ve lost the confidence I had in everything I’ve learned recently; the confidence I had in my future.
What was the point of any of this?
I sit up to rearrange my pillows, punching them hard into submission. It makes me feel better – marginally, but still – so I hit them even harder. Then I pick one up and scream into it.
‘Liv?’ I hear Sam back at the door. Clearly, screaming into a pillow is not as quiet as I’d hoped. I stand up, dropping the pillow back on the bed, and roar into the ether.
‘RARGGGGHHHHHHHHHH,’ I yell, and Sam needs no further encouragement. She bursts in, her eyes wide and worried. When she sees me, she stares with frightened eyes as I do it again. ‘RARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’ She continues to look confused, regarding me for a long moment.
And then she joins in.
‘GRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,’ she tries.
‘RARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHH!’
‘GRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAA!’ She manages to be even louder than me and I giggle. This feels good.
‘RARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHH!’ I shout until I run out of breath. She inhales deeply, crouching in position; ready to release her next guttural shout and—
The neighbours bang furiously on the wall. We stare at each other mortified for half a second – then burst out laughing. We laugh and we laugh and we laugh, reaching for each other to lean on, tears streaming down our faces. Sam startschoking and we both collapse on my bed, still laughing; still choking.
‘That was so much fun,’ she says when she is at last able to speak. ‘Let’s roar on a regular basis. We’ll put it in our diaries for a weekly sesh, I’ll send you a calendar e-vite.’
‘Maybe when the neighbours are out?’ I say through tears.
‘Screw the neighbours!’ she says loud enough for them to hear. ‘They’ve got two kids! If they’re allowed to have the volume on their stupid Playstations at a thousand, we’re allowed to do a bit of roaring once a week at a regularly scheduled interval. They’ll either have to learn to be out at that time – or join in.’ She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously. ‘We could start a building-wide scream sesh.’
