Between Us, page 9
At once, it came to her: a notion that was absolutely, wildly ludicrous, and at the same time, had the magic slam-dunk click of the right answer. No? Surely, no?
Wine unlocked Roisin’s mouth before she could stop herself. ‘Uhm. Are you Amelia Lee?’
No one spoke.
Ruby blinked rapidly at Roisin, looking almost affronted, as if she’d been cat-called by a lairy street pedlar in a market.
‘Yes? Didn’t Matthew say?’
Roisin gulped. Wait. What? Was this really happening? She couldn’t be? Roisin had said the daftest thing imaginable, and this woman was agreeing with her?
‘I thought your name was Ruby?’
‘Pet name. Family name. Due to the hair,’ she said, riffling it with her fingertips. She returned to nuzzling Granville.
‘Fucking hell,’ Meredith said, and if Amelia Lee heard her, she didn’t show it.
20
The air pressure in the room dramatically shifted in the way it only can when everyone comprehends that a very, very famous person is present.
It was akin to a plane suddenly plummeting a few thousand feet and the oxygen masks tumbling out.
At least, Roisin assumed this was the way it always was: this had never happened to her before, unless you counted the time they saw Mick Hucknall from afar in a Spinningfields pizzeria.
Amelia ‘Milly’ Lee wasn’t reality star or soap opera famous, she was the real deal: cinema-marquee, name-up-in-lights, her-last-alleged-boyfriend-was-Tom-Cruise famous.
She’d recently moved up to lead role status – starring in a film about a World War Two seductress spy that Joe and Roisin had seen on a now-rare date night. Joe had pulled apart its poor plotting – and Roisin, its sexism – in the pub afterwards.
Here she was, a couple of feet away, asking the hired muscle guy in the doorway to ‘fetch Granny his organic venison biltong’.
A catfish was a concealed identity? Ohhhh. Roisin yearned to say, Matt! I know what you meant! So ‘Ruby’ was the Hinge pseudonym. She catfished him as a celebrity undercover as a citizen.
‘Were you really on Hinge?’ Meredith said, asking the question they all wanted to ask, because frankly why the hell not. Roisin felt like she was tripping off her tits.
Amelia threw an appraising look at Matt for his indiscretion. ‘Sure,’ she said, flintily. ‘Why not?’
‘Don’t they have a dating site for famous people to meet other famouses? No offence, Matt, but you’re just … Matt,’ Meredith said to him.
Matt twinged a smile and Roisin felt for him. Once again, she could see how little of this he’d intended. Once again, it probably wasn’t going to save him from the consequences.
‘That’s Raya. I’m on there too.’ She played with Granville’s ears and snuffled his head. ‘But, let me tell you …’ She paused, hand outstretched, and Meredith took a beat to suss she was meant to supply her name.
‘Meredith.’
‘Meredith … there are some slimy motherfuckers …’ She slipped into full American drawl, for a moment. ‘… out there, who want to date actresses. Star fuckers, you know what I mean?’
She made a face, like she was meaningfully confiding. Meredith replied with a terrified, automatic, ‘Yes,’ which almost gave Roisin hysterics.
‘It was nice meeting real, down to earth, honest guys who wanted to meet Ruby,’ Amelia concluded.
‘And also, Matt!’ Joe said, trying for his first Joe Powellish witticism since her arrival.
Amelia simply stared at him, like he’d guffed.
‘Would any of you mind terribly if we closed the curtains?’ Amelia said. ‘I very much doubt any picture agency would send anyone anywhere this remote, but it’d be such a bore if they did.’
‘Yeah, we do mind,’ Gina said suddenly, making backs straighten. ‘We also mind you telling us we can’t use our phones, and which bedrooms you and your bouncers want.’
‘Bouncers? Mark is my driver and Ted is my security,’ Amelia said, as if this was apparent to anyone who wasn’t deficient in faculties.
‘Whatever,’ Gina said. ‘You’re not only here visiting your boyfriend, but you’ve also crashed our weekend. You don’t get to tell us what to do.’
Roisin cringed, yet couldn’t fault Gina on any point of accuracy. Therefore, intervening seemed impossible. She suspected everyone else had made this calculation, too. On what basis did they stand Gina down? Amelia was, being honest, the original provocateur here.
‘Gina,’ Matt said, clearing his throat, ‘it’s alright if Ru— Amelia wants to stay. Right, Dev?’
‘Of course!’ Dev said.
Gina, flushed, twitched in her seat as if she’d been tasered. ‘Says fucking who? You’ve not asked the rest of us?’
‘I’ve not had a chance, but …’
‘Are you and Matthew an item of some sort?’ Amelia said in dispassionate tone, with her perfect diction.
‘Er. Nope,’ Gina said quickly and with a nasty laugh. Roisin gathered Gina was drunker than she’d thought.
‘Sorry, what is the problem then? I’m not clear,’ Amelia said. One of her anonymous men entered the room and she said, ‘Ted, close those curtains, would you? That’s right, those ones, thanks.’
‘DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE, TED!’ Gina screamed, and Amelia’s dog fell onto the floor with a plop and started wolf-howling.
‘Seriously,’ Gina stood up and turned to Matt, ‘how dare you? This is my birthday do, and once again, you’ve fucking ruined it. You’ve brought this weird nightmare in here …’ She turned to point at the impassive Oscar nominee. ‘Let me guess, Matt, you didn’t mean to do it. But you have. I am so sick of you acting like nothing’s your fault. SHE is your fault. It’s your job to find her somewhere to stay, because she’s sure as SHIT not staying here.’
Gina had gone a mottled salmon colour, breathing coming in gasps.
‘Alright, it’s late,’ Matt said, clearly having one of the worst experiences of his life, trying to figure out how to tap dance through the crocodile swamp he’d found himself in. ‘How about, if tomorrow—’
Amelia interrupted him, turning a large gold watch round on her child-sized wrist so she could see its face, ‘If we can’t stay here, it’s about what, two hours to Manchester? But there aren’t any hotels there.’
Everyone’s mouths opened to query this assertion before they all realised she wasn’t saying there were no hotels, but there were no hotels.
‘Four hours to London?’ Amelia continued.
Ted leaned in and said something in her ear.
‘Four or five, give or take. Matt, you grab your things and we can be in Soho House by one a.m. I’ll drop Nick a text, I’m a member.’
Matt said, ‘Uhm …?’
‘See you out by the car. Granny, come on! We’re not staying! Come on, Granny.’ She fished the French Bulldog out from under the chair legs and scooped him up into her arms. They held their breath for her parting shot, but there wasn’t one; she simply left the room without further acknowledging their presence.
A silence fell over the party. Even Joe Powell couldn’t find the quip to break the astonishment.
‘Dev, it’s super rude of me to leave with her. I don’t know how else to fix this, though. Do you want me to tell her I’m staying?’ Matt said. He rubbed at his temple and looked like he was grinding his teeth.
‘Yes, it is rude, but we don’t want you to stay!’ Gina said. Then, checking herself, ‘I don’t want you to, anyway.’
‘Gina! Matt is as much a part of this weekend as any of us,’ Roisin said.
‘Yes,’ Meredith agreed. ‘Settle down, G. This isn’t Matt’s fault.’
‘QUELLE SURPRISE!’ Gina roared, clamping her wine glass to her face.
‘I don’t want to spoil things,’ Matt said, with a pointed look towards Roisin and Meredith. They grasped its meaning. It was clear Gina and Matt’s rift wasn’t going to be healed overnight, a second time, and if he remained, the mood was likely fatally poisoned.
‘Mate, you do whatever you want!’ Dev said. ‘No hard feelings. Your gal is a bit of a tornado, hah.’
‘Your gal is a bit A LIST FAMOUS. What on earth, Matt?’ Meredith said. ‘Our minds are fucked, here! A warning would’ve been nice?’ She smiled.
‘I was working up to it,’ Matt said, rather brokenly. ‘I didn’t think the big reveal there was time sensitive. Dev, I’m so sorry – I never thought for a moment telling her where we were staying would mean she’d take it as an invite. Her schedule’s nuts, I didn’t even know she was in the UK.’
‘Are you kidding, stop apologising! This is an all-time killer brag.’
‘OK. Bye, then,’ Matt said, barely meeting their eyes as he left, to muttered farewells.
Roisin wanted to say something supportive, but with Gina on her last nerve, she didn’t dare say more than, ‘Bye, take care.’
After a beat, they shamelessly reassembled by the window to spectate, the Jeep now with tail-lights on and one door open. Eventually Matt walked into view, dressed like hip Doctor Who again, headphones round his neck.
He glanced at the dining room window and raised a palm.
‘It’s like he’s getting into a spaceship,’ Anita said. ‘With an alien.’
‘Goodbye, Matthew McKenzie,’ Joe said, waving. ‘Your passing leaves a huge hole.’
‘Lesson learned,’ Dev said. ‘Always worth checking exactly who Matt is dating. Next time he says “Kylie”, I’m going to be like “Minogue or Jenner?”’
Except, Roisin thought, had Joe not stopped Matt’s reverse catfish reveal, they would’ve known.
And she noticed, save one piece of sass, Joe had been unusually restrained around Amelia Tornado. She guessed it was because his precious career prohibited being sarcastically insulting to very well-known actresses. Game recognised game.
‘Did this happen? I’m shaking,’ Roisin said, as the car drove away and adrenaline started ebbing back out of her veins. ‘Did Amelia Lee turn out to be Matt’s latest girlfriend, and Gina told her to go fuck herself? Did I really say: “are you Amelia Lee?” like a total melt? I felt like I’d asked someone in the Mafia if they were in the Mafia. Something you don’t ever do.’
‘Glad you did, ’cos until then I was going to go with jewel thief,’ Anita said. ‘I thought she might be on the run. No photos!’
‘If it’s a hallucination, I must have eaten the same hash cake,’ Meredith said, putting her arms round Roisin. ‘Oh, Miss Walters, make it make sense.’
Without needing to communicate their next thoughts, they looked at each other in concern, and over at Gina, who was saloon-in-a-western sploshing more wine into her glass, while making a sly face Roisin could only classify as ‘Fleabag’.
Much as Gina had chewed Matt out for his felonies, Roisin felt sure she’d feel even worse than him tomorrow, psychically as well as physically.
‘Joe! The time!’ Anita said, looking at her phone. ‘Hunter starts in five minutes! Everyone, get your drinks, we’re going to the screening room!’
‘It’s going to feel like something of an anti-climax now, isn’t it?’ Joe said. ‘Talk about a hard act to follow.’
Very recently, Roisin would’ve said this statement from Joe was false modesty. But frankly, he could be right.
21
Roisin had no detail about Hunter, beyond the skeleton of the premise and the casting. She’d been involved in every spit and cough of SEEN, but Joe was fully launched now, had a small army of professionals to give him notes. He deserved some space.
In last-minute regret, as they took their seats in Benbarrow’s plush screening room, Roisin wondered what she’d thought was charming and relaxed might’ve in fact been reckless to the point of negligent.
‘It’s really quite filthy,’ Joe said to them, proudly. Roisin felt suddenly sick. Filthy? She could really do without her GCSE kids seeing filthy. What if there was some dreadful talking dirty, or Bad Sex Award, purple scene? Why did she feel such a lack of faith? Was she a prude? OK, she’d known it was about a ‘sex addict’, but it wasn’t porn, so. She very stupidly at last caught on that there were still several degrees of heat between U-rated and X-rated. The devil was in the detail.
‘I hope you like it,’ Joe said to the room. ‘No pressure!’
‘We are guaranteed to love it,’ Dev said.
Whatever show was finishing before Hunter crackled into life in front of them, in eight-foot-wide HD. Meredith opened chocolate peanuts and Liquorice Allsorts and tried to get a bladdered Gina to have some.
Anita rejoined them, having been projectionist. ‘Oh, Joe! I am a bag of ants, so what must you be like!’
Roisin really wished she could share their euphoria for Joe, instead of being eaten up by anxiety.
This must be how the parents of actors felt when their offspring was playing Hamlet. Stop this, she told herself. You’re having stage fright by proxy. It’s going to be amazing. Breathe.
She squeezed Joe’s arm and smiled at him in the dark. He smiled back, slipped his hot hand into hers and squeezed, let go. It was the tenderest moment they’d had in a long while.
The screen went black. A friendly, youthful, and northern-accented female voice said, in a confidential tone:
Now on BBC2. A new series from the writer-creator of SEEN. Get ready for the rule-breaking, fourth-wall-breaking, case-cracking HUNTER. Please be aware that this programme contains scenes of a sexual nature and strong language from the beginning.
A ‘wahey!’ roar went up. Roisin’s stomach cramped.
The screen filled with a group of thirty-somethings, laughing over nightcaps in a fashionable restaurant.
‘Is that the place in Didsbury?’ Dev said. Then, ‘Shit, sorry, no talking! I’ll save it to the end!’
The camera tightened in on the good-looking lead. The character Jasper Hunter was played by a leonine, much-lusted-after thirty-year-old actor called Rufus Tate, who was hovering at that level of fame between indie darling and prime-time heartthrob.
He had his arm round a doe-eyed girl, a cherubically pretty brunette called Becca. The group were teasing them about recently getting engaged, Jasper being a workaholic misanthrope who’d finally accepted he wanted ‘the chocolate Lab and the roses round the door.’
‘Or a Nespresso machine with the pods at least,’ he said.
‘Speaking of which. Jas. We should go,’ the brown-eyed girlfriend hissed behind a palm. ‘They’re wiping down the coffee machine parts.’
Roisin gulped hard as the nature of the ensemble emerged. Long-term girlfriend, sweetly steady in nature with an arch turn of phrase. A punkily dressed, forthright lesbian, Victoria; a loud, confident Indian lad, Avi … a petite blonde, Gwen, barely laced into a halterneck top, who seemed to be Becca’s best friend.
On screen, outside the restaurant, what Roisin thought of as the Fictional Brian Club group clambered into a taxi.
Moments later, Jasper leaned forward and called to the driver, ‘Can you let me out here, please?’
‘Fuck it. Forgot my scarf,’ he said to the other occupants. ‘I’ll go back.’
‘Are you sure? Looks like it might rain,’ said Becca.
‘Nah, honestly. You go on. I’d like the time to sober up.’
He grinned and banged the door shut, watching the taxi round the corner. Hands thrust in pockets, he walked back to the restaurant.
The series in general looked lustrous, Roisin noted: Manchester shot to look like New York. It was dark and rainy, in a Bladerunner way.
On arrival at the restaurant, Jasper sees the lights are dim and the doors are locked. He cups his eyes to peer through the glass and raps on the door. Then he tries the handle: it’s not locked.
He steps inside.
The place is deserted but for a strikingly attractive waitress with a sharply cut, Louise Brooks bleached bob, who was glimpsed bringing their espressos earlier.
She stops moving at the sight of him, her hands holding a broom. The camera lasciviously zeros in on her slender fingers with dark red manicure, gripping and unfurling round the broom handle. It cuts between Jasper’s face and hers.
‘Hi,’ he says, polite-reticent. ‘I … think I left my scarf behind? Ah. There it is.’
He draws it out from the back of a chair, puts it on. She cocks her head to one side, watching him.
‘I’m not sure blue’s your colour, to be honest,’ the waitress says, in a feline voice.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I also saw you take that scarf off and leave it on purpose.’
‘That’d be a strange thing to do.’
‘Wouldn’t it.’
A jump cut: to the sound of grunting and gasping, the camera pans over the top of a bathroom stall, where Jasper and the waitress are going at it like knives. The bird’s-eye angle ogles his chest and her push-up bra.
‘What does this mean?’ Jasper gasps, putting his hand on a tattoo on her shoulder. It has a series of numbers, next to a tiny crescent moon and a tiny sun.
‘Private joke,’ she says, catching her breath and smiling.
Jasper grins wolfishly and kisses her.
In the next cut, he’s alone in the restaurant toilet, looking at himself in the mirror over the sink.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ He says to his reflection, to the camera. ‘Why? Well, not why, you know why.’ He rips a paper towel from a dispenser. ‘The heart likes commitment, and the libido likes novelty. What you’re really thinking is how. How could you. There are two things to know about me.’ Jasper pulls open the door and turns to look directly at the camera. ‘I don’t feel guilt. And I’ll do it again.’
22
The screening room once again erupted in excitement and Roisin could feel Joe crackling with pleasure at the reception.
Roisin was conscious of her frozen position in her seat, not wanting to twitch or move an inch in case it betrayed her feelings. Which were: tumultuous. The voice was so unmistakeably Joe’s, she thought. The attitude.
