Page 26 of Just for December

‘She’s lucky she’s got a daughter who cares so much,’ he offers. ‘That’s lovely. It will be nice to get back in time for Christmas, I bet.’

She changes the subject, and Duke assumes somehow it’s for his benefit. She pulls a small silver flask from her coat pocket and takes a swig instead of speaking, coughing when she’s done.

‘It’s good stuff!’ she hoots, holding out the flask for Duke. ‘Comes recommended,’ she adds. He reconsiders his earlier assessment. Maybe the eyes were from crying but the blotchy cheeks were from booze. No judgement.

He takes it, drinks, and she tells him the view is great from up the hill she’s just come from.

‘Do you want me to show you?’ she asks, and the way she says it is like a peace offering. They haven’t seen each other all day – Duke hasn’t even spotted if she’s been on set or not – and when they said goodnight after their date it was terse. Almost unfriendly. Duke had wanted to alleviate the pressure of pretending once they were back at the hotel. He didn’t need a jovial friend hug again. He knows where he stands.

‘You don’t have to,’ he tells her. ‘I should probably get back to the hotel anyway.’

‘Don’t wanna risk those eye bags?’ she quips, and Duke pulls a face likewell what can ya do?

She looks at him – like really, properly looks at him. It makes Duke uncomfortable. What is she thinking? Does shepityhim somehow? She’s such a tough nut to crack. It’s ironic: he’s desperate to be seen, and she’s an expert at hiding.

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Another half hour won’t kill you. It’s worth the late bedtime, I promise you. And besides, Iwantto.’

She takes another swig of whisky and offers the flask back to him.

‘I can choose sleep deprivation or a hangover.’ Duke smiles. ‘But I can’t do both.’ She tucks it back into her pocket. They walk.

Evie is right about the amazing view. They hike in silence, climbing a set of steep steps and then rounding a corner and winding between some bigger, more luxurious houses until they find themselves in a clearing beside a small stone square with a statue of a man on a horse. There’s a wall, and Duke assumes that at the other side of it is a steep drop, because the closest thing he can see is the river, far below – its promenade lit up with wrought-iron lamp posts glowing amber – and across the way an expanse of winding streets just about visible because of more streetlamps. It’s quiet, and Duke finds solace in that. His brain moves at a million miles an hour but, right now, a shot of bourbon in his veins and his lungs working hard after the climb, the peace extends through his ears into his entire body. He takes a big breath.

‘Same,’ Evie says, softly, moving to rest her forearms on the wall. Duke mirrors her.

Eventually, Duke says, ‘So the missing of your mum – you okay now?’

‘Oh yeah,’ she says, ‘I’m fine. I’m so fine.’

Duke smirks. ‘So says every fine person in the land. I’m totally buying it. You’re fine.’

‘Okay, notfine,’ Evie concedes. ‘She’s in a home. She has Alzheimer’s. Most of the time she has no idea who I am, and I rang to see how she’s doing, and the answer is: not great. She’s agitated. Won’t cooperate. I couldn’t do anything if I was there. I’d still be crying. I wish I was stronger, I guess.’

Duke feels a wave of sympathy. ‘Urgh.’ He nods. ‘I’m sorry. That must be very hard.’

‘It is what it is,’ she says, wafting a hand. ‘Like I’ve said before, life sucks. Most of the time at least.’ She takes in the view again and Duke follows her gaze.

‘Yeah,’ he sighs. ‘And then there’s a view like this.’

‘And then there’s a view like this,’ she repeats.

16

Evie

The truth of her life slips out easily to Duke. She didn’t mean to tell him about her mom – the Alzheimer’s is yet another secret she keeps; even Magda doesn’t know the full extent of her mother’s illness. He listens kindly, as in: he doesn’t interrupt her, and empathises with the weight of it all without offering solutions or acting like he can be her hero. She hasn’t realised that’s what she’s been in need of: a witness to it all. She doesn’t need somebody to rescue her, God no. It’s another person nearby who soothes her. His presence helps. Him just standing beside her whilst she acknowledges her truth is … oddly healing.

She’s not sure what’s happening. They’re fake-dating, and shedidhate him … But the more she seems to lean into it, just for the heck of it, the more he pulls back, like he is worried she doesn’t understand it is all a game. Evie doesn’tsee the harm in trying to find at least a shred of fun in it, since she’s already busted through so many personal reservations to reach this point. She’s kind of inyolomode. She mostly stayed away from set today, taking calls with her agent about book sales and movie option updates (the short version? Everything is on the up, frighteningly so). But she was restless tonight, and she isn’t sorry they’ve ended up in the same place. She hates being around him, but hatesnotbeing around him more.

‘What about you? Are you close with your family?’ she finds herself asking. She’s going to ride this wave of sudden conversational intimacy whilst he’s apparently open to it.

‘No comment,’ he replies, shaking his head.

‘That bad, huh?’ she pushes.

‘You’ve got no idea,’ he tells her. ‘Seriously.’

‘All evidence to the contrary,’ Evie counters. ‘In case you’ve already forgotten, my mother doesn’t know who I am anymore, and just so you have the full picture: my dad is a cheating asshat who left. I have seven half-brothers and sisters I’ve never met because of him.’

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