Page 49 of Just for December

‘Yeah,’ says Evie. ‘So he says. What’s your point?’

‘So when are you gonna let yourself enjoy this success? You coop up in that house, you don’t do press or events, you’re getting a freakin’ movie made for Chrissakes, with more on the way by the sounds of it … I just … I don’t get it. I really don’t.’

Evie goes quiet. She thought her friend understood her.

‘I just … don’t deserve any of it,’ Evie settles on. ‘I really don’t. I’m not worth anything. Not worth sticking around for. None of it is real, and everybody leaves. This will probably all end soon enough. Everything does.’

‘No,’ coos Magda. ‘Idon’t leave.’

‘Everybody except you, then,’ concedes Evie. ‘I guess the point is: if I don’t have expectations, I can’t be upset when they’re not met. So … here I am. Expecting nothing, from anybody, ever, not even nice people who pay money for my stories. I don’t even trust them. Hell, most of the time I don’t even trust myself.’

Magda shakes her head like she can’t believe what Evie is saying. ‘That’s the saddest thing I ever heard,’ she says. ‘We have to fix this.’

‘I’ve tried,’ Evie tells her, her face impassive and serious. ‘I’m broken. The lady ain’t for fixing. Just let me get on with my life.’

‘Hmm,’ Magda says, concerned. ‘I just don’t think I can do that.’

‘You look awful,’ Evie tells Duke as he opens the door of his trailer up to her. ‘I came to see how you are, but …’

‘But you thought you’d rub salt in the wound a bit instead? Marvellous. Thank you.’ He’s not exactly smiling as he says it, but he sounds light-hearted enough. He does look terrible, though, with dark circles under his eyes, and sadness etched into his features. Like he’s exhausted and carrying something heavy – which, Evie reasons, he is. ‘Come in,’ he adds.

His trailer is shades of cream, with a big sofa and a few vases of fresh flowers and a small kitchen with a coffee machine and kettle.

‘Can I make one of those?’ Evie asks, pointing.

‘I’ll do it,’ Duke offers, and Evie thanks him as she shrugs off her coat and takes a seat.

‘It was bad?’ Evie asks.

‘No,’ Duke replies, and it comes out as a strange laugh. Evie’s confused.

‘I know it makes no sense,’ he continues, noticing the expression on her face. ‘Although maybe it does. I don’t know. Everything feels underwater today. Blurry and a bit slow, you know? Even when people talk to me, I feel like it’s coming from far away, like I can’t even hear properly.’

Evie drinks her coffee. ‘It must be a big shock,’ she tells him. ‘I told Magda I can’t imagine my dad ever tracking me down, let alone showing up, but honestly, if he did …’ She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. The implication is that she’d be a goddamn mess. ‘You’re handling it really well.’

They exchange a meaningful look.

‘Can I do anything?’ she says, predicting the answer is no, but goddamn it, he’s so handsome, and kind, and so incredibly lost … It’s not often Evie finds herself feeling more grounded or rooted or sorted than the person opposite her at a table, but today, on this occasion, she can see it plain as day: Duke is beat.

Tears start to pool in his eyes. ‘Bollocks,’ he says, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. ‘Sorry. Urgh.’

‘No, please don’t apologise,’ Evie insists. ‘Cry! Let it out!’

‘Kayla will kill me. My eyes are going to be impossible.’

‘Fuck Kayla,’ Evie says, and it makes them both laugh that she’d say something so strongly. ‘In the nicest possible way,’ Evie tempers it with.

They sit, and Duke lets the tears flow, and eventually Evie tells him: ‘I’m honoured you’d let me in, you know.’ He looks at her. He’s got questions in his eyes, but they don’t make it to his lips.

‘What?’ Evie adds.

He shakes his head. ‘I like you,’ he tells her, and it gives Evie a funny feeling, how he says it. She’s desperate for the confirmation that whatever is happening is worth taking note of, but as quickly as that feeling comes, something else washes over her, too. Fear. Panic. The urge to crack a joke.

‘You’re okay,’ she tells him, shrugging a shoulder. ‘I guess.’

He drinks his coffee, too, but he’s not crying anymore. She offers him a stick of gum and he takes it.

‘I’m mad at her,’ Duke admits, as he chomps down on it. A couple of coffees and a bit of bad flirting is what it has taken him to relax and start talking properly. Evie receives the compliment of it. ‘Because she’s chosen to sort herself out, and so breakfast was nice. She didn’t even expect me to pay – I can’t tell you the last time somebody close to me has picked up the tab.’

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