Page 42 of Broken Beyond Repair
“Mum says we’re to get your hair cut.”
“I’m not getting my hair cut.” Alex smoothed his hair back down and tucked it behind his ears.
“Okay, dude. No skin off my nose,” Peter replied, placing the bag in the boot.
“Stop calling me that,” Alex grunted as he opened the passenger door. He looked back at Sydney, dejected.
He was a troubled soul. A soul she was going to miss. She watched as they drove off, completely bewildered by what Beatrice had ever seen in Peter.
CHAPTER15
Glass knocked together as Beatrice fumbled in her bedroom drinks cabinet for a bottle of… anything alcoholic. Her heart was pumping so fast from fury that her head was spinning.
“That fucking arsehole of a man.”
She ripped at the cork of a bottle of whisky with her teeth, desperate for the taste of it to touch her lips and burn down her throat to soothe her. Burn it did, as much as the regret she held for telling Peter all those years ago how she really felt, how she’d felt for a long time. It was a careless slip when she’d wanted to hurt him. Now he was holding it over her, using it to squeeze everything out of her in their divorce.
Nancy hadn’t exactly been an awakening, more a point of no return. Following the events of two years ago, when she’d played a character falling in love with another woman, she could no longer deny it to herself: she was as attracted to women as she was men — maybe more so. She’d never jelled with any other character as much as Nancy.
In the film, Nancy had lost her husband in the Vietnam War and befriended the wife of her husband’s fellow fallen soldier. As the two characters fell in love, Beatrice had been consumed by envy — in a strange way. Peter was like a chain around her neck at that point, and she would have done anything to have stayed in character and carried on living in the sixties with Sarah, the co-star playing her love interest, Alice. Sarah was someone she let her guard down around and was even beginning to consider a friend, even if she was secretly feeling something much deeper for her. Beatrice knew she would need to be careful not to make that mistake again.
Each day she returned to her trailer to find Peter there, doing whatever it was Peter did. She didn’t see him as her husband any longer, he was a reminder of her unhappy existence and a marriage she held together for the sake of her son. She hadn’t wished for Alex to grow up in a broken household like some of his friends at boarding school. That was, until the day she returned to her trailer to find Peter five and a half inches inside Sarah. That was finally enough to call time. She’d found the betrayal from Sarah harder to take than from Peter. She knew what he was like.
Now he’d heard about the autobiography, he believed he was due more in his settlement. He was refusing to sign the latest documents, wanting to hold off until after the book was published to gauge its success and how much extra he might be due.
Another mouthful of whisky hit the back of her throat, burning her senses and relaxing her muscles as it took hold. Re-corking the bottle, she manoeuvred her way over to the sofa with one crutch, dropping the bottle onto it and returning for a glass. Frustration was biting at her. She would never take such simple tasks for granted once she could walk again.
Sydney marched through the partially open door without knocking, her expression riddled with disgust. “You do realise Alex was listening to you two arguing.”
“Is this where you accuse me of neglecting him again?” Beatrice bit back as she lowered herself onto the sofa.
A loud sigh came from her assistant as she stepped into the room. “I’m not your enemy, Beatrice; you don’t need to be confrontational. You may be rich and famous, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat other people badly. It places more responsibility on you to set a good example. You should know that. You’ve experienced first-hand other people’s bad behaviour; I’m surprised you accept it from yourself.”
“Are you seriously comparing my behaviour to that of my abusers?”
The colour drained from Sydney’s face as she stumbled for an answer. “Not the nature of the behaviour obviously; the intent behind it to put people down.”
“You believe me to be on a power trip, is that it? You’ve read about my life, and now you think you know me?”
“No, clearly I don’t. Your dad died and you tell your son like he was some passing acquaintance. Who does that?”
“Don’t you dare bring my father into this,” Beatrice growled through her teeth. “You have no idea.”
“No, because you won’t tell me! I’m supposed to be writing about yourprivilegedlife, yet half of it remains a mystery.”
“Are you quite done?” Beatrice snapped to shut Sydney down.
“No, whilst I’m at it, would it hurt you to say please or thank you occasionally? Oh, and you can stop clicking your damn fingers. I’m not a dog. You already haveallmy attention.”
Sydney turned and left the room, leaving Beatrice to regain her breath and ponder the meaning ofYou already have allmyattention.Was Sydney suggesting she was sucking the life out of her?
Within half an hour, Sydney reappeared in the doorway. Beatrice assumed she’d come to apologise until a second glance revealed Sydney to be wearing a pair of tight, dark blue jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a light blue blazer. Her hair held an attractive loose curl to it. She was Sydney quite transformed. It took her a moment to peel her eyes away and remember she was mad at the woman.
“I’m going out,” Sydney said.
“What? You can’t,” Beatrice snapped.
“I can. You buy some of my time, not all. I’ve been working tirelessly for you and your deadline. I’m owed at least one evening off.”
