Page 68 of Just for December

‘Enjoy.’ Markus smiles, looking at Magda.

Evie doesn’t bother saying goodbye – she’s sure neither of them would hear her over their respective boners anyway.

She meanders down some corridors and out into the cold air. It feels fresh, and it’s still the last of the afternoon light, so the sun keeps her warm enough. She does a circuit of the parking lot and then finds a bench to flop down on, pulling her phone from her pocket. She pulls up her emails, but there isn’t anything beyond a few pre-Christmas sales emails fromher favourite brands, and then, inexplicably, she pulls up a web browser and googles her father’s name.

What am I doing?she vaguely asks herself, and she hits the return key. She changes tack, and instead googles herself. Image after image comes up from her various fauxmance dates with Duke. She can see the progression: the pained faces from the coffee shop, the coyness from the fairground, the pictures from the alleyway the other night – a passion that could never be faked. Nothing from today, of course, for her ensnaring of Katerina, because of Clive’s fall.

He was okay, after his fall. Duke saved the day. Evie half wonders if she’s come outside to see when Duke gets back to the hotel, so she can catch him. She waits. He doesn’t come.

She is disappointed, yet again.

Men leave.

Don’t trust anybody.

She could never be enough, anyway.

This isn’t real.

34

Duke

Duke takes a moment to breathe deeply. He knows the saying about there being years for questions and years for answers, meaning there are times when we have to figure out who we are in this world and other times we get to enjoy it. But for Duke, this whole winter has been a time of growth so rapid and intense that it’s actually painful. He doesn’t know if he can take much more – even the Golden Globe nomination feels like too much. It’s like there’s no room in his brain for any other surprises, even a good one.

But the way Evie was before Clive fell, looking at him with those massive freaking eyes, her nose pink from the cold, like she means it, like she really did want him to kiss her, wasn’t for the camera. How is he supposed to know the difference between reality and make-believe when she looks at him like that? And how can a person look like that if their feelingsare going to be temporary? It doesn’t make sense to him. Either she wants this, or she doesn’t. There is no in between. Not with burning, aching stares like that.

‘Hey, Duke,’ a voice says, and it’s Katerina, the DP. She’s holding two paper cups with steam escaping through the lid. They’re working late, Clive’s tumble pushing things back. ‘Tea? Best way to stay warm is not to get cold, after all.’

‘Yeah,’ Duke says, stretching out a hand to take one. ‘That’s great, thanks, Katerina.’

‘You’re so welcome,’ she says, smiling, and Duke is surprised when she doesn’t walk away. He braces himself for her wanting a favour. He doesn’t mean to play the big-star card, but that’s typically what happens when somebody lingers around him on set towards the end of a shoot, like if they don’t get the photo for their sister, or video for their son or whatever, they’re going to miss their chance. How is he supposed to refrain from feeling sorry for himself when literally, even in the one moment he steals away, somebody else finds him, and asks something from him yet again?

He can’t keep doing this. He doesn’t mean to feel sorry for himself but genuinely, he really feels empty, in so many ways. He’s not talked to his people about what he’s thinking, but the longer he sits with the idea of starting a production company with Daphne, of doing the deals of getting great movies made without walking the red carpet or being in front of the camera, the more he feels that it’s the right thing for him. Especially now his mum has relapsed. God, that was the worst two and a half hours of his life, waiting for confirmation from Auntie Patricia that she was there, she’d gotten into the house, that his mother was fine, if not having been on quite the bender.

He’s one of the most well-known people on the planet, and for half a second, he thought that would cure his mother, and now he knows nothing will – not if she doesn’t want it. He’s spent his whole life thinking it was him: that being better, nicer, funnier, more charming, more well known, more loved by the world would eventually mean she’d love him too. He understands now that her drinking isn’t anything to do with him, and that knowledge is both tremendously upsetting and, at the same time, totally liberating.

‘I just wanted to let you know …’ Katerina pushes, and Duke braces himself for the ask ‘… a bunch of us are going out later. Tomorrow is a lighter day, and when we wrap everyone flies home so quickly for Christmas that there won’t be time to have a proper goodbye, so we thought tonight could work. I wasn’t sure if you’d been formally told. You disappeared at the bar the other night …’

Yeah, he did. He disappeared with Evie.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Okay. Great. Have somebody leave the details in my trailer then, could you?’ He could do with a bit of a party, a bit of a blow-out.

‘Yeah,’ Katerina says. ‘For sure.’

He nods. He has a sense he’s supposed to be making better conversation but there’s nothing to say and he really does just want those quiet five minutes.

‘See you there.’ He smiles, forcing himself to sound bright and friendly.

‘See you there.’ She smiles back, and for a moment it’s like she might say something else, but then she laughs, shakes her head like she’s being silly, and repeats: ‘See ya.’

Duke watches her walk away. Just a few more days and theshoot will be done, and he’ll be jetting off to … well. He hasn’t decided. He might check in at The Hotel Bel Air, if he can get a room this late, and just think about how next year looks, what he wants and how to make it happen. He’ll need to juice-cleanse before the Globes, and up his workouts, so it makes sense to be in California. Will he still have to juice-cleanse as a producer, or if he starts writing screenplays? God, now there’s a thought. Imagine eating a proper British Christmas dinner with all the trimmings and not feeling guilty about it. Imagine kids waking him up at the crack of dawn, eventually, and not having to worry about sleep quality impacting his complexion.

None of this has been real. He’s been building his house on sand and wondering why it all keeps crumbling. Well, no more. Bollocks to PR and diets and being a brand, a commodity that makes everyone else rich. Sure, he makes money too, but at what cost? It’s done. Over. Finished. Out with the old and in with the new. Bring. It. On.

Okay. Well, this might not be goingtoowell. Duke can see three of himself as he pees, a mirror at head height forcing him to squint with one eye, and then the other, because he’s been doing shots. It was Katerina’s idea. He’s having fun, but a glass of water might be nice. Two glasses of water. An aquarium, even.

‘Ayeeeee, here he is!’ Katerina claps as he stumbles, just slightly, through to the dark basement bar that everyone has assembled in. It’s not a private event, so there are other people, locals and tourists alike, but so far he’s been unbothered. It’s a nice feeling, hanging out like an everyday kind of a guy. Evie isn’t here though. He wishes she was.

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