This, whatever this is, is not your fault. I think about you too.”
I stop crying when he says that, as though the latest sentence to have spilled from his mouth changes everything. He lifts my chin, turning my face to look up at his own, which my eyes search, trying to determine whether there is any truth in his words. Then I reach up to kiss him, my eyes offering an unspoken invitation, and this time he doesn’t hesitate. This time, our lives outside of this moment are buried and forgotten.
Jack’s hands move down to the front of my dress, expert fingers removing me from it, revealing the black lace of my bra underneath. He lifts me onto the desk, knocking the room-service menu and hotel phone to the floor. Before I know what is happening, he’s on top of me, pinning my arms down, forcing his body between my legs.
“And, cut,” says the director. “Thanks, guys, I think we got it.”
Eight
Galway, 1987
Maggie held my hand all the way back to the cottage on the seafront. She held it so tight, it hurt a little bit some of the time. I think she was just afraid I might run away again, and that a bad person might find me like she said. But the only running I did was to keep up with her walking. She’s a fast walker and I’m tired now. She kept looking around the whole time, as though she was scared, but we didn’t pass any other people at all along the back streets, good or bad.
The cottage is very pretty, just like Maggie. It has a smart blue door and white bricks; it’s nothing like our house at home. She doesn’t have much stuff, and when I ask why not, she says this is just a holiday cottage. I’ve never been on holiday, so that’s why I didn’t know about things like that. She’s busy putting clothes in a suitcase now, and just when I think she might call the police, she decides to make us some tea and a snack instead, which is nice. On the walk here I told her all about how my brother said we can’t afford to eat, so she probably thinks I’m hungry.
“Would you like a slice of gingerbread cake?” she asks from the little kitchen. I’m sitting in the biggest armchair I’ve ever seen. I had to climb it just to sit on it, like a mountain made of cushions.
“Yes,” I say, feeling pleased with myself, sitting in the nice chair about to eat cake with the nice lady.
She appears in the doorway. The smile that was always on her face before has vanished. “Yes, what?”
I don’t know what she means at first, but then have an idea. “Yes, please?”
Her smile comes back and I am glad.
She puts the cake down in front of me, along with a glass of milk, then puts on the television for me to watch while she goes to use the phone in the other room. I thought she had forgotten about calling the police, and now I feel sad. I like it here, and I want to stay a bit longer. I can’t hear what she is saying over the noise of Zig and Zag on the TV, she’s turned the volume up very loud. When I’ve finished the cake, I lick my fingers, then I drink the milk. It tastes chalky, but I’m thirsty, so I finish the whole glass anyway.
I feel sleepy when she comes back in the room.
“Now then, I’ve spoken to your daddy, and I’m afraid he says that what your brother told you is true; there isn’t enough food for you at home anymore. I don’t want you to start your worrying again, so I’ve said to your daddy that you can stay here with me for a few days, and then I’ll take you back home once he’s sorted himself out. Does that sound grand?”
I think about the TV, and the cake, and the comfy chair. I think it might be nice to stay here for a little while, even though I will miss my brother a lot and my daddy a bit.
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes … please … and thank you.”
Only when she leaves the room again do I wonder how she spoke to my daddy when we don’t have a phone at home.
Nine
London, 2017
I check my phone again before getting out of the car. I’ve tried to call my agent three times now, but