Cupcakes and Scrapbooks

I didn’t sleep last night, but hadn’t really expected to. I had the same thoughts swirling around my head over and over and over. My eyes felt as though they had dried out from being open so long and sleeping just wasn’t an option. I was up at 3am icing cupcakes, but that didn’t take as long as I had hoped, even being obsessively neat about it.

          I turned on my laptop, reported the three new hate groups, read a few messages from the delightful people on Twitter just to make myself feel even shittier, and went on to Van’s page. He hadn’t updated it again since the photo. I put on the TV, trying to find the most mindless show that I could. I wanted to turn my brain off and be distracted. Unfortunately, for once, everything was of an intelligent nature; documentaries, history shows and debates. I searched the movie channels and found one of Van’s. It was halfway through but I didn’t care. Seeing him on the screen caused the tears to start, and I sat there, wrapped in his robe, bawling my eyes out like a complete lunatic. The movie itself seemed to be a thriller, and my beloved was the bad guy, which was slightly unreal considering how sweet he was. His voice was lower, his sandy hair dyed brown and it was longer so it hung in his eyes. His character was utterly heartless and without morals, but I just enjoyed hearing his voice again. I dozed for a little while, and when I woke again, the sun was fully up and the flat was full of an orange glow.

          I was still shattered, but at least now I could get out of the flat. I boxed up some of the cupcakes and took them to the sweet guy at reception (he was very flattered and wouldn’t stop saying thank you.)

The sun blazed in a way I hadn’t experienced since I’d been here, but I wasn’t about to complain. I was still in love with the sun despite the thick coating of sunscreen I’d drowned myself in before leaving the building.

I’d had an idea last night (whilst staring at the ceiling for hours) and wanted to make a start on it. I would need a newsagent’s and an art supply shop. I could have asked for directions, but I really hadn’t explored as much as I should have. If I was still going to New York I wouldn’t be here much longer and needed to make the most of it. Besides, I had too much time to kill as it was.

          As I walked, I texted Sofia. I asked how she and Luke were and mentioned that I hadn’t heard from Van. She replied instantly saying that Van seemed really down, but insisted he was fine. He was hiding it well enough from Luke, but when he wasn’t around he looked morose and depressed. She said he was catching a flight back to me at 6pm, so probably wouldn’t be back at the flat until late. I thanked her and carried on searching for the shops I needed. This was not good. If he wouldn’t even talk to Sofia (and she is the easiest person on the planet to talk to) something must be really wrong. I ignored the guilt gnawing away at my insides as I really had no clue as to what I could have done. It was still there though, trying to get me to feed it with even more things I should feel bad about.

          I eventually found a newsagent that sold everything under the sun, or somewhere close. They had a scrapbook in the size I wanted, and a whole wall dedicated to magazines. I quickly had a look through them and grabbed any with Van in (over 20!) I was searching for more, when I saw a girl who looked a lot like me on the front cover of a magazine that is notorious for made up stories. I was on the front page of a magazine! How scary! They were still running the story that I was pregnant, but this time with triplets and I was only three months gone apparently. That was reassuring to know. We’d have to think up a third crazy name for when the triplets are born. I rolled my eyes as I read on, but had to buy three copies as I was so in shock at being a front page story (even if it was complete tosh.) I would send one to my mum, but I wasn’t sure if she’d find it as funny as I did.

          Lugging all the magazines back to the flat was not fun. The sun was getting insanely hot and the bags were really heavy. I made it eventually and laid them all out on the table to hack to pieces. Yes, I was scrapbooking. No I was not getting to that point where I was making them of Van so I could look at them and cry every time I missed him. I was making them for Luke. I knew his parents did everything they could to protect him from the craziness of their lives, which wasn’t always possible unfortunately, so I was trying to document everything his dad had done as much as possible for him to look over when he was older. Sure, he was twelve, but they were still keeping him out of photos and the media as much as was possible (not easy when you constantly have a camera shoved in your face.)

          I was happily cutting up magazines, surrounded by a sea of scrap paper, my hands covered in glue, and with a paper cut bleeding on to the table, when Van walked in. Fuck. I look like shit and the table is a complete mess! I was supposed to have time to clear up and make myself look…well, not pretty, but at least remove the glue from my skin and tidy myself up. I was staring at him in shock, my hands dropping to my sides. The blood dripped in a steady pattern onto the carpet. The cream carpet that we didn’t own. I barely noticed. Van’s expression was guarded, a frown on his face as he met my eyes. He was angry at me, it was obvious. I just wish he’d tell me what I’d done so I could at least try and fix it.

          “It would be nice to see you just once when you’ve not been injured.” He said in a clipped voice.

          “Shit!” I said, catching the blood in my other hand and running to the sink.

I washed my hands off and stuck a plaster over the paper cut. It was pretty pathetic, but wouldn’t stop bleeding. I grabbed a cloth and rushed over to the stain, dabbing it and scrubbing manically. It began to spread, turning pink and bleeding outwards. I was making it worse. To add to the fun, the plaster came off my finger and it began bleeding over the stain some more. Awesome. I could feel the tears coming and gave up trying to stop them. I was exhausted, confused and making things worse. I covered my face with my hands and just sobbed.

          I jumped when his hand began rubbing my back.

          “It’s just a carpet, it’s not worth getting upset about.” He said softly.

          “I don’t care about the fucking carpet!” I said between sobs. “I’ve been freaking out since you left about what I’ve done wrong and I still have no clue. If you want me to leave, I will, but please tell me what I did wrong.” I dissolved into a new round of tears, sniffling like an idiot.

He took a tissue from his pocket and pulled my hands from my face. He proceeded to gently wipe away all my tears, then the blood I’d managed to smear across my cheek. He sighed deeply, looking for the right words.

          “I haven’t been fair to you, I stormed off in a mood without any explanation…Let me get you cleaned up then we’ll sit down and talk about it ok?”

I nodded, swallowing hard to stop the tears from starting again. He lead me over to the sink and cleaned my hand up, wiping the dried blood that had run down my forearm to my elbow. His hands were deft and gentle. Being the coward that I am, I couldn’t meet his eyes, I looked at my feet, noticing droplets of blood on my socks. This country made me bleed a lot it seemed. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so I stood there in silence as he stuck a plaster on my finger and lead me to the sofa. He sat and patted the cushion next to him. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

          This was going to be ‘the talk’. The ‘I don’t think we should work together anymore’ talk, or the ‘I don’t think we should live together anymore’ talk, or the ‘I’m taking out a restraining order against you’ talk. Regardless of its subject matter, the pained expression on his face made me think it couldn’t be good. Everything had been going so well though, we got on, we laughed at the same stupid things, we were good for each other, even if it was just as friends. Just as employer and employee. I didn’t want to think what my life would be like without him. It was pathetic and needy, but I’d never felt like this about anyone before, and it was pulling me to pieces.

          “I know Sofia told you about my last PA, but did she tell you about my latest ex?”

I shook my head, watching my hands fighting in my lap. I didn’t want to see if there was hatred in his eyes, regardless of how soft and gentle his voice was. This was the trouble with actors.

          “She was a lot like you actually; sweet, grounded, compassionate. She encouraged me to quit smoking, cut down on the drinking and made sure I ate three meals a day. She was also sleeping with most of the actors I worked with. She had one thing on her mind and it was her ambition. She didn’t care about me and stole phone number for contacts, insisted I introduce her to people she had no need to know… but I wanted to help her because she had helped me so much. Things fell apart quite quickly when she started selling stories to the papers about my alcoholism, drug taking and anything else she thought they might pay to hear. They didn’t care if it was true or not, and nor did she. There was no evidence, but that didn’t matter. My career was in shreds as no one wanted to hire someone with so many issues. Sofia and Luke were the only things that got me through it. Sofia would counter every story she told, providing evidence. Things gradually improved again, then I had the PA do almost exactly the same thing to me. My ex is still selling kiss and tells about all the people she has slept with, and none of them seem to learn from it. I ran away because…Georgiana I care about you far more than as a PA, as a friend. I thought you felt the same way until you said to your mom that I was just your boss. It scared me because it was starting to play out like it had with my ex and PA. You looked after me and ensured I looked after myself, you genuinely seemed to care and…” He trailed off.

          “I’ve never asked for anything from you.” I said. “Just your company and attention occasionally.” I said in a feeble voice.

          “I know. I pinned my hopes on this being different, but what you said on the phone…”         

          “I said that so YOU didn’t freak out! Jesus Van, you are so bloody blonde! I hang on to your every word! You’re all I think about, all I care about. The last two days have been utterly miserable. I haven’t known what to do with myself and I’ve spent a lot of it staring at walls and cyber stalking you!” I stopped myself before I sounded any more desperate than I already did. Well, the cards were now of the table, I would be kicked out in an instant.

          “Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes were incredulous.

          “Hmmmm, I wonder. Could it be that you’re a hugely successful movie star and I’m just a freak from a small town in England? Or the fact that one of your ex’s is a frigging super model? Or it could be the fear of losing a job that I love. Why in God’s name would I tell you? That just leaves me open for fifteen thousand different kinds of rejection!” I met his eye and regretted it. His mouth was hanging open in horror, his eyes almost as wide. Excellent. Good going George, you’re not going to see him for dust.

He shook his head and thought for a moment.

          “This is entirely too grade school to be true. I like liked you and you like liked me and neither of us told each other.” He said in a cutesy sing song voice.

          “What?” I asked, my mouth echoing what his had just done.

          “George, I’m crazy about you and I don’t even think I’m very good at hiding it. In fact, I suck. First thing Sofia said to me when I mentioned you was; ‘You like her don’t you?’” His eyes were shining brightly.

          “Sofia is psychic I swear.” I said. “You…you want to be with me?”

          “A little slow on the uptake aren’t you Mac?” He said with a grin.

Well I was not expecting that, in fact it was the antithesis of what I had been predicting him to say. I’d actually packed my case this morning because I had expected this to go in the opposite direction.

          “I’ve been wandering around the flat wearing your robe. I even slept in it.” I said in a small voice.

          “And now you’re making a scrapbook of me?” He asked, looking over at the table, his left eyebrow raised.

I laughed.

          “No, it’s for Luke. I know you don’t let him read about you in the papers so I thought I’d start collecting them for when he’s older. I’m not completely whacked out just yet.”

His expression softened.

          “You’re doing it for Luke? That’s…that’s really sweet Iana.” His smile was contagious.

I took a minute to study him for the first time since he’d returned to me. He looked even more tired than usual, his eyes ringed, but perky and alive. He was growing stubble which was incredibly cute and made him look a little closer to his actual age. I still couldn’t associate him with a 30 something year old man, that was just insane. He was my age if not younger mentally. But we were both a pair of big kids. He wore a long sleeved blue top with the sleeves rolled back. I was guessing New York wasn’t as warm as Hollywood. He had the usual well-loved jeans which matched the ones I was wearing. He looked like a softer version of himself in the sense that his eyes were slightly dreamy, his voice almost a whisper when he spoke now. I guessed it was so I would have to lean in to hear what he was saying.

          “I really, really missed you.” He said, taking my hand between his and pressing it to his lips. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I was unbearable in NY. Sofia was getting seriously pissed off at the pining. She LOVED her picture by the way.”

          “How’s Luke?” I said, ignoring the fact that he missed me. I would be getting a gigantic ego if I thought about it too much. It was enough to know it and feel the relief in every part of me that he cared as much as I did.

          “He made you a comic book. He’s obsessed with drawing at the moment. It’s about Zombies as I told him you were a fan.”

          “AWESOME!” I said with a grin. “I made cupcakes. Pink, especially for you.”

          “You know me so well.” He rolled his eyes. “I only had three cigarettes the whole time I was away.” He said proudly, looking at my through his eye lashes. The sleeve on his top fell down and he twisted it around his fingers almost shyly.

          “If I asked you out on a date, what would you say?” He asked, pretending to be coy.

I laughed.

          “I’d have to check my schedule. I’m a very busy girl.” I said sarcastically.

          “So I gather from your voice mail. How in the hell did you get those tight fisted bastards to agree to that?”

          “I’m a girl of many talents. It was good to vent at someone as I wasn’t in the best mood over the weekend. I got recognised which was scary. This girl just came up to me, staring at my stomach to see if I actually was pregnant. She was hoping you were with me.”

          “Where was this?” He asked, still holding my hand. He traced circles into the back of it with his thumb.

          “I was out with Masa. See, I’m fighting men off with a stick at the moment.”

          “Masa?” I saw the exact second his eyes darkened and his hackles rose. I loved it. He was actually jealous! Don’t get me wrong, obviously I don’t want him to be unhappy, but at the same time, I was so flattered I felt like doing a little happy dance around the couch.

          “Masa is the guy that ran the Vegan bakery where I got the cupcakes. He asked me out. I’ve seen him a couple of times…” He was about to interrupt me. “…but nothing’s happened and I spent the whole time thinking of you. We haven’t even held hands, he acts like he’s scared of me. I really, really wanted to feel something for him because he is an incredibly sweet, good guy, but I couldn’t. I was just comparing him to you the whole time and it wasn’t fair.”

He smiled at that, clearly flattered, but it was the gospel truth. I didn’t think there had been more than two minutes where I hadn’t been thinking of Van when I’d been with Masa. It was awful because he deserved better. I would have to talk to him about where he thought we were going, because it wasn’t fair to make him think we were going to end up together. Maybe that wasn’t even what he wanted. I was leaving town soon anyway, so even if we had worked out, I wouldn’t have been around long enough to make a proper commitment anyway. Poor, sweet, lovely Masa. I didn’t think there was a girl in the world that would be good enough for him in my opinion. He was such a gentle, shy spirit. Actually, I’d pair him up with Sofia, she’d bring him out of his shell, but it wasn’t an option, not least because of the distance thing again.

          Van was staring at me as all these thoughts were buzzing around my skull. I’d spent all weekend waiting for him to come home, and now that he was here, I was having weird little ‘thought spasms’ where I was linking a million things that I really didn’t want to be thinking about when that beautiful man had his eyes on me.

          But what now? Did we carry on as we had done or did the fact that we (and I hated this phrase) ‘liked’ each other now make everything weird?

          “So, you gunna ask me out or what?” I said.

          “I’m going to wait until you least expect it.” He said, twisting his sleeve.

I took a cushion from the sofa and hit him with it repeatedly.

 

We talked through our options, but I told him I didn’t want things to change between us for now. Obviously I’d love him to ask me out, but until he stopped being a bastard and did it, things would stay as they had been with the banter, the pillow fights and the domesticated bliss. He admitted that that was one of his favourite things too. He’d never had a relationship that had been as ‘normal’ as ours was. It was far from normal, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He’d dated super models and pretty girls who had false nails that they didn’t want to ruin. My nails were chewed to oblivion and since having the false ones removed, were still covered in flecks of adhesive. I did very much like being a proper blonde again though, that was one thing I might keep up from the premiere prep that I’d gone through. I hadn’t had hair this colour since I was tiny. I was still shocked by it

when I looked in the mirror every morning.

          We spent the afternoon practicing for his auditions by going through lines and looking over the notes I’d written for each one. He said he found them invaluable, and it was probably something he should have started doing years ago, but everyone wanted Van, he didn’t really even have to try. It was a lot of fun actually, and I got to show him how utterly horrific an actress I was. The dying swan act for one of the scenes was pretty spectacular if I do say so myself, even if I will be bruised tomorrow from throwing myself over the back of the sofa.

          Mid-afternoon there was a knock on the door. It was the lovely guy from the desk with a huge, thick envelope for Van.

          “I also wanted to thank you again for those cupcakes. My waistline doesn’t appreciate them, but my taste buds did.” He smiled warmly.

          “I’m so glad you liked them. They’re vegan.” I said, knowing that would shock him.

          “Really? I’ve never had vegan food before.” He said with a smile, excusing himself politely as he had to get back to the desk.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he frequently ate ‘vegan’, every time he ate a piece of fruit or had a salad with certain dressings. Masa’s recipe was proving popular. I’d have to make some for Sofia and Luke when we moved to New York. I was looking forward to seeing somewhere new. It seemed the girl who used to be scared to step outside her front door in the town she grew up in, had finally found her feet and grown a pair of balls.

          “Delivery Mr. Murphy. I’m guessing it’s scripts. I obviously put the fear of God into your agents if they’re hand delivering on weekends.”

He grinned, kissed the tip of my nose and opened the envelope. It was full to bursting. I had been right, they were scripts of every kind; TV, movies, even ones for music videos - now that would be cool. Van had already done three or four, but I wanted to see how it was different from a ‘normal’ shoot. Had he ever had to do a dance routine? Now that was something I would pay good money to see.

          We ate too many cupcakes, the wrappers all over the evil coffee table and the floor around it, as we picked through the scripts. They were all good scripts. The agents were obviously vetting them as before whenever they’d sent them over, there’s be three or four and most of them would be awful.

          “Miss. MacManus, I believe I have you to thank for this.” He said waving a handful of papers around. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this many options at one time. I’m going to struggle to pick.” He didn’t look so tired anymore, a new energy awaked within him.

          “Leave them. I’ll go through it all whilst you’re at auditions tomorrow. I won’t have anything to do otherwise and will spend the time looking up how hated I am on the internet. At least now there’ll be a good reason.” I winked at him in a cocky way, he just shook his head.

          “I was thinking, in a couple of months, we should borrow someone’s baby just to freak everyone out.” His grin was so utterly evil I had to laugh.

          “I don’t think my mum could handle that. Wanna watch Breaking Bad?”

          “I would love to Miss. MacManus, but first please take the cupcakes away or I will keep eating them until I vomit. Who’d have thought your hippy vegan crap would taste so good.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh of righteous indignation.

          “You love my fake meat crap, you said it was just like chicken.” The amount of times I’ve switched meat for fake meat on unsuspecting people is not funny, and they can NEVER tell the difference!

          “I never did ask what it was made from…”

          “Mushroom protein. It’s not so appealing when you know that is it, especially as I hate mushrooms. C’est la vie.”

I put the cupcakes away as I was starting to feel like I’d had about six too many, and wandered back to the sofa. Van stood, scooped me up in his arms and plonked down on the seat with me on his lap. He moved to lie down and I did the same, spooning in front of him. His arm snaked around my waist and his breath was tickling the back of my neck. Breaking Bad had never been so good. If I could die right now, I’d die so euphorically happy.

The Fallout

Van woke me by throwing random objects at my bedroom door and yelling that breakfast was ready. He was up before me! Now that was a first. I still hadn’t recovered from the exhaustion of last night. Call me melodramatic, but it was so draining as I know I was getting as much attention as Van was (though very little of it was good)

My phone was flashing manically with missed calls and texts. I opened the first;

          ‘Why wasn’t I the first to know you were pregnant? I’ve had newspapers calling me up wanting my version of events. What do I tell them?’

Her voice messages were along the same vein, though each successive one got more hysterical, her voice getting higher and higher. I’d left my phone on silent as I didn’t want to get woken up. Maybe I should have turned it off altogether. The other voice messages were from magazines wanting interviews about the baby and wishing me congratulations. Ooops.

          I threw on a robe and wandered out to the smell of bagels being cooked, and something else…

          “YOU FOUND CRUMPETS!” I squealed, running over to hug him.

Yes, I had more important things to be worrying about now, but there is no love like the one between a girl and crumpets. I felt like a crack whore being given a hit just from the smell.

          “Yup. Sit down I’ll bring them over.” He was amused by me, as usual.

          “We have a problem. No, we actually have several problems. Have you checked your phone today?” My voice was growing higher the more I thought about it.

He shook his head and yanked the crumpets out of the toaster, popping them on a plate and putting a thin layer of vegan marge over the top. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. What was I saying? Oh yes.

          “Well I have a lot of voice messages from my hysterical mother and several magazines that want all the gossip about the twins.” My tone peaked out of hysteria and disbelief. It had been funny yesterday, now…my mum was never going to speak to me again!

He looked at me in confusion and carried the plate over to the table, setting it before me before planting a soft kiss on the top of my head. What the hell?

          “The twins, you know, Zebedee and Loony.” I snorted at the names.

          “Oh.” He said, turning away to hide the laughter.

          “Oh indeed.” I said, sinking my teeth into a crumpet.

Better get this over with. I dialed mum’s number, chewing slowly. This was going to be very, very bad.

          “Georgiana! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day! You are all over the news over here and in the papers.”

Shit.

          “Mum, I know what it looks like, but it was all a big joke. Come on, my stomach is flat in those pictures, and I haven’t been out here six months so how could I be that far gone?” I took another bite and paused for breath.

          “No baby?” She asked, sounding deflated.

          “No mum, I’m sorry. Don’t you think you’d be the first to know if there was? I don’t want kids. That hasn’t changed and I doubt it ever will if it hasn’t by this point. Van is wonderful, but he’s my boss, not the father of my fake babies.”

          “I am slightly relieved as I had some concerns over the name choices.” She always did get straight to the crux of the problem.

          “You think I’d let my kids be called Zebedee and Loony? If anyone else calls, just say ‘no comment’, hell if you like take the money and make something up, just don’t talk about Van ok as he has a career and it’s kinda my job to ensure that doesn’t go down the toilet.”

          “You sound different.” She said.

          “How do you mean?” I asked, feeling cagey.

          “Happy. Healthy. Perky even. I’m not used to it is all, it’s a relief actually, you don’t know how long your dad and I have worried that we’d come home and find you swinging from the loft hatch.” Such nonchalance for the subject matter!

Awesome. Thanks mum. I looked over and Van to see if he could hear, but he was tidying up in the kitchen, humming to himself.

          “Could you get copies of any mags or papers? They’d be great to look back on when I have to go back to a crappy retail job.”

She laughed slightly, still sounding disappointed. I hadn’t even thought she would hear about it, let alone this quickly.

          “I saw you get attacked, are you ok?” Her tone softened a little.

          “Yeah. Van’s fan girls hate me with a passion. They think I’m using him to advance my career or something. There are hate groups dedicated to me on face book.” I said with a laugh. She didn’t return it. I wasn’t sure she knew what FB was.

          “Be careful Georgiana.”

          “Van won’t let anything happen to me. He’s very protective. We were just winding the media up last night as the premiere was dragging. It was amazing though, the film was great, you both need to go see it when it comes over there.”

          “George, the UK premiere is in a fortnight, I thought maybe you’d want to come?” Van said from across the room.

          “See, I’m his PA and I have no idea of what’s going on. He should fire me.” I said with a laugh.

          “It would be good to see you George. Would it be in London?”

          “I assume so, yeah. I’ll let you know the details as soon as I know them. Take care mum.”

          “You too. Bye.

I hung up and sighed. I didn’t really want to go back to England if I was honest. It was just rain, grey skies and the old me, the one I thought would remain there forever and not follow me here. She might jump on the plane home and get back with me. I finished the crumpets and carried the plate over to the sink. Van was chewing on his fingers.

          “What’s wrong my love?” I said.

It was something I said to everyone, regardless of whether I loved them or not. I hadn’t even thought about it, but he looked surprised.

          “What? Van? What’s wrong?”

          “Nothing.” He mumbled. “Just tired I guess. Yesterday was draining. We don’t have anything for a few days, so I thought I might go to New York and see Luke.”

          “That’s a great idea. I’m going to get in contact with your agent and see why there’s such a waiting time on actually getting the scripts. They’re really doing a sucky job at the moment. Anything you need me to do while you’re gone?”

He shook his head and left the room, still chewing on his fingers. Had I said something wrong or done something to offend him? I thought back on the conversation and couldn’t think of anything, but then I had a habit of talking without thinking.

          I followed him to his room and knocked on the door. He called me in.

          “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” I asked as he began packing a suitcase.

          “I’m fine, really. I’m just tired and have a lot on my mind.” He avoided looking at me as he grabbed things from drawers and threw them in the case.

          “Anything I can help with?”

He shook his head. I took it as a sign to leave, closing the door softly behind me. His mood had just dropped out of nowhere. I must have said something, but what?

 

I had expected him not to leave until the next day, or at least the evening, but he was gone within the hour. I’d been given a curt goodbye, a hurt look lingering in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. What the hell was going on?

I felt like curling up in a ball and crying. Everything had been going so incredibly well, I should have known something would happen to ruin it, that it couldn’t last. I wandered around the apartment morosely, not really knowing what to do with myself. I’d gotten out of practice of being alone and I hated it now. Before it had been necessary as I’d never found anyone I really cared enough about to be around all the time. Former boyfriends had been kept close for fear of being alone, and they had done the same to me, cheating, stealing and using me in a hundred different ways.

          I snuck into his room and stole his robe, putting it on even though I was hot. It still smelt like him and the aftershave he used which I could identify on any man that wore it. I’d even squealed at Masanobu that he was wearing it. It had scared him a little by how excited I was by the fact, but he was frequently freaked out by me. We’d been chatting via text, unable to make schedules click again, but now that I had a few days off and no Van, I really wanted to see Masa. It might have been a case of loneliness and Van replacement therapy, but Masa was a good guy and I enjoyed his company (when he actually spoke) it would be good to see someone other than Van for once. To be a normal person in normal surroundings, or at least as normal as this place got.

          I rang Masa but he didn’t pick up, so I left a message telling him I was free and happy to meet up at any time as I had no plans. It sounded a little desperate, but he wasn’t the kind of man to judge me like that, he’d hopefully just be happy that we’d finally get together. He was how I used to be, scared to talk to people for fear of rejection or ridicule. As my mother had said, I’d changed. I was a tiger mother now (without the kids) ensuring that my ward (Van) ate, slept, didn’t smoke too much and had all his veggies. Since we’d moved in together he’d become practically Vegan. We cooked together, so it was just easier to use meat replacement, and he didn’t miss meat he had admitted. I could put money on him binging on the stuff in New York though. I rarely thought about meat anymore, but I did miss the ease of it, just going in somewhere and picking anything off the menu, instead of having to ask exactly what was in everything.

          I sat at the table and stared out of the window, feeling a bit useless. I was used to planning my life around Van and had grown to hate my free time, unless it involved spending it with him. We’d become inseparable, going shopping, watching Breaking Bad obsessively together (he was now as hooked as I was), we’d even baked together once after he’d gotten excited about finding a recipe for Vegan muffins online. They sucked, but that wasn’t the point. It was fun and a ’couple’ thing. I’d ended up with more of the batter in my hair than in the bowl after Van had decided to start flicking it at me, but the side of me that worried about that kind of thing didn’t seem to exist here. I didn’t buy into the ‘stiff upper lip’, ‘uptight’ British stereotype, but it was true in my case, or maybe it was the sun? The new surroundings? Having a job I loved? I could tell myself whatever I wanted, but I knew it was down to Van, and Sofia. I found myself wishing she lived closer, but she was in New York, as was Van.

          I sent him a text to let me know that he got there safely, and set about cleaning. The flat was never messy, but I went OCD and moved all the furniture, dusting, sweeping, mopping, cleaning, washing… I emptied Van’s washing basket and dragged his and my clothes down to the laundry room, feeling sad as we usually did this together. I had no one to chat to as the machine went through its cycle, so settled for staring at a wall and brooding. Once the stuff was in the drier, I began checking my phone every two minutes to see if Van or Masa had messaged me. They hadn’t. I texted my mum and then began neurotically tidying up the laundry room. I had to keep busy or I was going to drive myself mad. I’d done it before. The Devil makes work for idle hands or whatever the saying is. If I had too long to think, I would do an excellent job of depressing the crap out of myself. I would dissect every conversation and look for signs that I’d messed up, or that he had been acting the whole time just to make working with me easier and he’d now had enough of it. Living together maybe hadn’t been the best idea, but he’d suggested it. Did he think I was getting too attached? Well duh, of course I was, he was wonderful. How could I not?

          I remembered what Sofia had said about his previous PA using him. Did he think I was doing the same? I couldn’t think of any time where I’d taken advantage to my knowledge. Everything he had done for me, he had offered, I’d never asked. Or was this something else entirely and I was reading too much into it? Was it simply that this place was getting to him again? But that wouldn’t explain why he was in such a good mood when I first got up and then it disappeared after I’d spoken to my mum. What had I said that could have upset him? I was going around in circles.

          I took the clothes from the drier and lugged them back upstairs. I loved this building, I loved the flat, I loved the view over the skyline and the sun, I loved living with Van and I especially loved how close we had gotten recently. I wasn’t ready to give all that up. If I had to, I’d move back to that shit hole, that was fine, but I couldn’t give Van up. I couldn’t comprehend my life without him now. He was the first thing I thought of when I woke and the last thing at night, and it wasn’t just because I was his PA, that didn’t even come into it. I loved him. It had been creeping up on me for a while now, but I’d just thought it was a silly crush like the rabid fan girls. I knew it wasn’t now. It was a lot stronger. Yesterday had been proof in the way I’d wanted to defend him. I couldn’t stand the idea that people were upsetting him. I had risked pissing off some serious players around here just so they would leave him alone. I wasn’t scared when he was around, I was this braver, stronger version of the girl who’d left England all those weeks ago. I had fallen so hard in such a short amount of time.

          Moping wasn’t helping. I set his iPod to random and turned the docking station on. I couldn’t help but smile at the song that came out of it. ‘Rhythm of Love’ by Plain White Tees. It was a song I’d had in my head for a whole week once and couldn’t stop singing. I’d driven him half mad with it, humming, singing even though I didn’t know the words… Evidently he missed me repeating it all the time as I didn’t think it had been on there before (I’d stolen his iPod every time mine needed charging and he did the same with mine, loving my cheesy 80’s tracks.) Well, it was now in my head for another week. I wasn’t going to mope, I was going to jump around like a nutter, something I hadn’t done in a while. I let my hair down (literally, I’d had it in a bun) and started hopping around in a weird, stupid dance that people only do when they don’t think they’re being watched. I hope to God he hasn’t got security cameras in here. He’s probably sat in New York laughing his arse off and streaming it to the internet. The fan girls would love that.

          After the fifteenth time on repeat, I couldn’t stand it anymore and turned it off. The forced happiness hadn’t lasted. It was growing dark outside now the sun had set, and he hadn’t replied to my message. I hoped that was because he didn’t want to talk to me and not because he was hurt. I was being paranoid. He was fine, he was just enjoying seeing Luke. I was tempted to message Sofia, but I didn’t want to hassle her. She was a freaking world famous super model after all and had better things to do than listen to my angsty whining.

           I fell asleep in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with my phone in my hand, checking it obsessively. Even my mum hadn’t replied. I was feeling a little unloved, watching people scream abuse at each other on a talk show to cheer myself up. (I slept with my sister’s friend’s cousin’s goat and then her brother’s neighbour’s dog, or something equally confusing.) Talk shows in England were pretty tame compared to that.

Heaven and Hell

He was right, moving my stuff was entirely too easy and made a mockery of his awesome truck. It was literally what was in my suitcase, the bag I used for work and my fridge’s contents. If I died tomorrow, this is all I would have to show for it. On the plus side, there wouldn’t be any freaky stories about how I owned a life size my little pony or a 72 piece vibrator set. I didn’t even own a one piece vibrator set.

          I covered the dress with bin bags so he wouldn’t be able to see it and placed it in my case with the love and care of a holy relic.

Going down to tell the asshole at the desk I was leaving was way too much fun. The benefits of living in a shit hole that didn’t take card details, wanted cash and didn’t do contracts. There wasn’t even a deposit to worry about. Awesome.

          On the drive to Van’s I was thinking about all the benefits of living with him; rides to our appointments, not having to make sure he was up, internet access, and well…Van. I would be living with Van. I would be actually living with Van. Holy crap, life just got better and better (minus the attempted mugging)

          “Van, I’m going to have a huge mark on my face for the premiere.” I said, prodding the stitches with my finger in irritation.

          “Don’t mess with it. If you like, I’ll put stitches on my face and we’ll pretend we’re making a fashion statement.” I hoped he was joking.

          “So come on, tell me everything I need to know about attending a premiere.”

He thought for a moment, his eyes on the road. He began chewing on his fingers again. Uh oh, this usually meant bad news.

          “Basically, you just stand there and look pretty as I wow the crowds, smooze with the red carpet interviewers and look utterly gorgeous.” He winked at me in the rear view mirror. “There’ll probably be an after party, but I generally don’t stay for those. They’re messy, dangerous and are usually crawling with paps waiting to get photos of you vomiting in the gutter.”

          “So I just stand there.”

          “Yup.”

          “And if they ask me questions like that evil bitch did?” I’m sitting on my hands to stop myself picking at the stitches. It’s so addictive, but I don’t really want to make this any worse. I don’t think scars are in fashion right now.

          “You give them my favourite hand gesture.”

          “I hope you’re kidding. I’m sure as your PA I should be discouraging it or something, but it is slightly hilarious watching people’s faces when you do it. I also love how all your fans greet you with it, it’s a whole sea of middle fingers. Could there be anything more beautiful?”

          “Mac, my favourite word is fuck, I love giving the finger, I smoke where I’m not supposed to, drink too much, make no secret of my hatred of interviews…I’m the brat as far as everyone’s concerned and I couldn’t give a flying fuck. If you want to piss off every person in that place, go for it, just draw the line at directors I might want to work with in the future.” He shot me the cutest lop sided grin and pushed his hair out of his face. His accent peaked on hard consonants and made my insides feel like squirming eels.

          We pulled up at his, taking only one trip to get my things upstairs. Unpacking took all of two minutes, the only thing I cared about was my dress getting wrinkled. Van had obviously already decided I was moving in before he mentioned it to me as he’d made the room more girl friendly, I.e. taken down the posters of cars that had been up before. All of Luke’s things were packed away (though there hadn’t been much.) It was a gorgeous room with a window that had a view over the skyline, the sun setting in a thousand shades of orange and gold. I could hear myself sighing contently. This was bliss.

          Van appeared in the doorway.

          “Let me show you where you can stick your bathroom junk. I know girls have a million bottles.”

I held up my shampoo, conditioner and shower gel.

          “That’s it? Wow. Don’t ever live with Sofia, she had three medicine cabinets full of lotions and potions. They quite honestly scared me.”

          “Van, I can’t thank you enough for this…”

He held up a hand to stop me.

          “It’s purely selfish. I hate living alone, I miss Luke and it’ll be nice to have company. Plus it’ll make both our lives easier. I won’t need an alarm clock because you’re uber organised.” He grinned, showing all his perfect white teeth. How did a smoker have such amazing teeth? “Hungry? I thought I’d cook, y’know, welcome you to the apartment…”

          “You have food?” I said in mock horror, pulling a Macaulay-Culkin-in-Home-Alone expression.

He rolled his eyes.

          “I even bought some of that fake meat, mushroom protein crap. It looks vile, but apparently tastes like chicken.”

          “That sounds great. Thank you. Let me help though.”

          “Nope. You relax, check your email or something. What’re you going to do now that you have internet access? How will you cope with the excitement?”

          “I’ll be watching cute videos of kittens and puppies all day long.”

He smiled and left to go start on dinner. He thought I was joking!

          I carried my laptop through to the main room, liking that there was someone else here. I could watch him attacking vegetables with a cleaver like he was in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and not have him realise that’s what I was doing.

I made my first port of call the hate group on Facebook. It had thankfully been removed, but another had been set up in its place, cleverly called ‘FUKIN TRY N GET THIS TAKEN OFF BITCH! WE STILL H8 GEORGIANA MACMANUS!’ And the best part? Apparently I used to be a man. They’re basing this on the fact that I have a huge Adam’s apple. Do I? I can’t say I’d ever taken the time to focus on that part of my body as I was usually fixated on how awful my skin was. Nope, I wasn’t going down that road. I wasn’t going to let a group of silly little girls give me even more things to worry about. I was neurotic enough without adding to it. I reported the group again and headed for Twitter. I was tagged in no end of posts telling me I was fugly, stupid, fat (?!?), anorexic (make up your minds people) gay, and one person was even telling everyone I was dead. Impressive that I can check this from beyond the grave.

          I clicked on my Beloved’s profile and felt myself blushing at some of the things he’d written in defense of me;

          ‘@myusername is probably the sweetest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, please stop insulting her as I find it really hurtful.’

          ‘Look people, can we stop now. @myusername is my close friend and I won’t have people insulting her.’

          ‘Please don’t call yourself a ‘fan’ if you’re insulting one of the most important people in my life @myusername.’

          ‘Spent the day with my favourite girl @myusername. She made me laugh so hard coke came out of my nose.’ I smiled remembering that day.

          ‘@myusername is making sure I eat my vegetables. Three square meals a day, and coffee doesn’t count? ;p’

          I felt better after reading those. I was his favourite girl? I wasn’t going to start getting excited, he was doing it to protect me and piss off the haters no doubt. But my heart was doing little back flips of happiness. 

          “Are they leaving you alone yet?” Van called, his arms covered up to the elbow with pieces of carrot peel.

          “Nope. I have several face book groups dedicated to me. I used to be a man according to them.”

          “Awesome. I always wanted to meet a chick with a dick.”

          “Classy Van.” I said snorting back a laugh. “I just don’t understand why they’re wasting their time! They could be doing something productive or fun, but instead they’re spamming the crap out of me.” I clicked onto an actor database. This was what I’d secretly wanted the internet for, to stalk Van! Mwahaahahhahahahaaaa!

          In another window, I did a search for pictures of him and left it running whilst I looked at his career. Holy crap he’d been in a lot of films, and I’d actually seen a couple of them! Surely I’d remember him wouldn’t I? There were a lot of independent films listed, along with ones that hadn’t been released in England, which would explain why I’d never really known about him (that and me living under a rock.) I scribbled a quick list, intending to get hold of every single one. Heh heh heh. God bless the internet. I closed that page and looked at the photos. Holy fuck.

          “Jesus Van, you look hot in a dress.” I said, looking over at him.

His eyes widened in panic and he rushed over to the computer, shutting the laptop.

          “Banned! No more! You can help me chop veg if you’re going to misbehave.” He looked utterly horrified.

          “It’s ok, all I have to do is this…” I closed my eyes and smiled dreamily. “Oh yeah Van, work it.” I was laughing, trying not to snort as I did that WAAAAAAY too often and it was not remotely sexy.

          “You’re evil.”

          “Well you have great legs. Miaow.” I said winking at him

          “I hate you. You can stir this.” He handed me a wooden spoon and steered me over to the hob, his hands on my hips guiding me.

 

And he can cook. The stir fry was so good! I almost felt indecent eating it in front of him because I was enjoying it way too much. We were getting like an old married couple, bantering, teasing and chucking things at each other. It never escalated to a full food fight, but it was close. We did the washing up together and slobbed out on the couch afterwards, chatting about trashy TV (Jerry Springer is awesome) and what our favourite shows were.

          “So what do you watch?” I asked, stretching and yawning. Sleeping was hard when you can’t lie on your back due to puncture wounds. They weren’t agonising or anything like that, but when I was asleep and rolled over, they stung enough to wake me up.

          “I don’t watch much TV to be honest.”

          “Have you seen Breaking Bad?”

He shook his head. Uh oh.

          “What? Please tell me you’re joking. That show is the best thing on TV! Tomorrow we’re going to find a box set and watch them all in a giant marathon!” I said, my voice getting higher and higher as I got more excited. The hand clapping and squealing started then. I felt like saying we could paint each other’s nails and put on face packs, but I thought it would scare him, plus I’d never done that myself. Girlie sleepovers were alien territory for me. Maybe I had missed out on a whole chunk of my life through being a social pariah. Meh, Van could be my girlfriend.

He smiled indulgently as I chatted away about how great the show was, how much he sucked for not watching it and how much fun we were going to have. I don’t get out much and get excited over stupid things. Plus Aaron Paul is AMAZING. I just hope I don’t tear up when bad things happen to Jesse. Just thinking about it made my eyes a little misty. I had to say though, watching Meth addicts on BB was a lot better than nearly being mugged by them!

          The evening was such a wonderful bubble of domesticated bliss without the complication of a relationship or sexual tension. We chatted, teased, play fought and then planned what to do tomorrow on a rare day off. I went to bed happier than I could remember being for so long, secretly a tiny bit thankful to Stabby McStabberson for making this happen. Poor bastard was probably going through withdrawal in a holding cell somewhere.

          I fell asleep quickly and didn’t wake up once.