Page 4 of Just for December

A pap Duke recognises from his Hampstead house in north London gets close enough to block off his path.

‘Careful there, Clive.’ Duke smiles, looking over the top of his sunglasses to check the man is okay. He hates the press this afternoon, when he’s embarrassed and ego-bruised, but he needs them, too, at the end of the day. That’s what Carteralways says. And to be fair, Clive is normally one of the better ones. He gets his shot and then buggers off, which is more than can be said of some of the others – they’ve mounted cars, rifled through his bins, even wire-tapped his phone.

‘Sorry to ask you mate, but Daphne? What’s the crack?’ asks Clive, his camera up to his face, the viewfinder fixed on Duke’s reaction. Duke can tell he’s stopped taking stills and has switched to video, exactly like Carter said he would. It’s almost as if she has briefed the press, organised this whole thing.

‘No comment,’ says Duke, as per the film publicist’s instruction.

‘Come on, mate, nothing?’ Clive pushes, and Duke plays the game. He’s given his rehearsedno commentfor the production team, now he’s to give his rehearsed ‘everywoman heartthrob’ comment for his personal management, to help with his – God save him for using their word, the word he hates so much –profile.

Duke sighs, sticking the book he’d been reading on the flight under his arm and pulling off his sunglasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He feigns trying to think of the right thing to say, something that captures both that he’s a decent guy, isn’t a pushover,andthat he still believes in the good things of the world. That’s his role, isn’t it? To keep romantic hope alive? He has to say this like he isn’t worth three to five million a movie, because money can’t hide your longing to be loved. It can’t even cushion it. He might be Duke Carlisle, but his job in whatever he says next is to make every woman who sees it believe that maybe, just maybe, they could be the next Mrs Duke Carlisle.

If only they could.

He’d kill for real love.

‘Daphne and Brad?’ Duke starts, careful to look off camera to Clive’s other eye and not directly into the lens. ‘I’m happy for them. Truth is, we’d actually been broken up for a while. We’re still great friends, and I’m happy if she’s happy. Everyone’s got the wrong end of the stick. I can’t speak for Brad’s marriage but from our end, Daph and I went back to being friends ages ago. I’m really loving making the movie with her. Any bloke is lucky to have her. But truly, we decided long ago that we’re more like brother and sister than anything else.’

The lie comes out easily. He takes a breath and decides to finish on his truth, earnest as it might be.

‘I’m very much looking for love myself, though,’ he says. ‘I’m looking for the woman of my dreams, in case you see her.’

A group of fans issue a collectiveaww, and he waves one last time before ducking outside to the winter chill and into the luxury Mercedes people carrier waiting for him, the windows thankfully blacked out. If he thought the driver wouldn’t leak it to a gossip mag, he could almost let himself cry. Everything is a performance for him, even his real feelings. It’s enough to send him mad. It’s enough to make him feel like the loneliest man in the world, even when everybody knows his name.

3

Evie

The call from the care home comes right as Evie is at the departure gate, boarding pass in hand.

‘Ms Gilbert?’ a polite-sounding woman says, but Evie can already tell it’s Bluebell Assisted Livingfrom her caller ID and the subsequent thudding in her chest. She sees that name and her automatic reaction is to panic, because it’s never good. It’s never good, and it’s also never anything Evie can do much about. That isn’t a fair combination.

‘Is she okay?’ Evie asks, instead of giving a polite greeting back. Every call they give her starts with her heart in her throat, because every call could be the one where they say the worst has happened. She should give them that feedback:Hey, guys, instead of saying hello when I pick up could you open with ‘Your mother is not dead. Is now a good time to talk?’

‘She’s okay,’ the woman says, understanding the concern. ‘This is Polly, Evie. We’ve met a few times, if you remember.’

‘Polly,’ Evie repeats. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. I don’t mean to be abrupt.’ She gulps a lungful of air, trying to tell her body it can calm down. ‘And it’s Bird. Mom is Mrs Gilbert, but I’m Ms Bird.’

‘Of course,’ Polly says. ‘And don’t apologise one bit. I get it. Everyone is the same when they know it’s us.’ There’s a beat. Then Polly continues: ‘She’sfine,’ she reiterates, ‘but I did just want to let you know that she’s sprained her wrist after a fall. She got spooked by one of the new assistants and toppled over a chair. Her wrist is bandaged, but she’s anxious, talking to herself, like she does.’

‘Yeah, it calms her. She … she used to be an editor. Books. Is she telling a story under her breath? Sometimes she makes things up about when I was little, or remembers meetings with her old authors and gives everyone notes,’ Evie rambles, knowing that Polly knows all this.

‘Yes, that’s it. It’s been a few hours of it now,’ Polly continues. Evie realises she’s next in line to board the plane, pointing to her phone and mouthingsorryto the air steward checking her paperwork. The man nods, like he understands. ‘And she has indeed calmed down – it obviously works for her. We’ll keep a close eye on her, but with the injury we just wanted to let you know.’

‘Thank you,’ says Evie. ‘I appreciate that. And just so you know, I’m out of the country until just before Christmas now – I’m actually getting on the plane.’ She navigates the air gate, almost toppling over a toddler who randomly stops and sits down in front of her, a grown-up looking mortifiedbehind him. ‘So please do keep in touch,’ she continues, stepping around the kid, who is now crying. ‘Just don’t be put off if you get an international dial tone. I did mention it when I came to say goodbye this week, but you never know if it’s actually been noted, you know?’

‘Good to know,’ says Polly. ‘I’ll double-check. And, erm, Ms Bird, whilst I have you …’

Evie knows exactly what Polly is going to say. She’s heard it from them so many times before: the slight cough that indicates a segue from pleasantries to a discussion of money. Evie’s shoulders immediately tense.

‘Oh,’ Evie says, trying to save face. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, just while I remember. I’ve left a cheque for you with my friend. She should be dropping it off. It’s for the past three months – I’ve been so slammed with work I’ve not been on top of my admin. I apologise for the delay. And I fully intend to get all caught up over the holidays, too, so I’ll be sure to pay up front from here on out. I should get some help, really, since I’m so forgetful. Ha, ha.’

Evie is painfully aware that she’s suddenly talking a dime a dozen, barely pausing for breath lest Polly finds a space between her words to berate her. Sheshouldbe better with money; she knows she should. It’s not like she doesn’tmakemoney, it’s just … somehow it always seems to leave her accounts as fast as it comes in. It’s always been like that, like a compulsion. She should get a financial adviser, especially now her years of hard work are paying off. She’s never made an abnormal amount of money, even though her job is to essentially sit at a computer and play make-believe all day. But now her books are getting more attention – thanks, inpart, to the news of the movie adaptation – she needs to be more responsible. It’s just … there’s always a reason to treat herself. A good writing day or a bad writing day or the finishing of a draft or missing her mom being fully cognisant or the start of summer or the end of summer … Evie buys clothes and make-up and perfume and bags, even though she never really goes anywhere.

She should be saving for retirement – she knows that – especially since her mom went into the care facility and Evie had to start subsidising it. She needs insurance, in case she gets sick and needs care, too. But she never seems to be able to get a handle on things; it’s been a struggle since her mom’s savings ran out, and Evie doesn’t always pay Bluebell on time. Her dad should contribute something, but he hasn’t sent money since he left all those years ago. That’s why when they got film interest forOn the Romantic Roadshe said yes, despite her reservations about the clause requiring her presence on set. The cash is going straight to the home, up front, so she doesn’t have to field thatthroat clearingevery other month and act like she’s a crazy person to buy herself some more time.

‘Got it,’ says Polly, when Evie finally stops gabbing on. ‘I’ll make a note of that too. Are you off anywhere nice?’ she asks then, right before they ring off. ‘For your trip?’

Evie doesn’t try to explain. Half the time she doesn’t get it herself.

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