I sit on the couch and put my head in my hands and I cry. I cry because he’s leaving me. I cry because the prospect of being here without him feels totally unbearable. I cry because by keeping this secret from me, on top of everything else, he has definitely, utterly, broken my heart.
God, what a way to find out I really am in love with him after all.
It’s only been a few weeks. How can it hurt so much if it’s only been a few weeks? But it does. Fuck, it does.
Eventually I pull myself together and scrabble around my bag for a tissue. I blow my nose and drink some water. There’s a compact in my bag, and I manage to make myself look slightly less tear-stained. I’m fairly sure my face has gone back to normal when the door opens and Art comes in.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I got the last fresh loaf in the place. I hope she’s grateful.’
‘Your phone rang a few times.’ I point towards it.
‘Oh God,’ says Art. ‘Was it my mum again?’
‘I don’t know,’ I lie. ‘I wasn’t going to answer it.’
He walks over to the couch and suddenly I know I can’t bear to hear him lie to me again.
‘I’m going to the loo,’ I say, and leave before he picks up the phone.
I stay in the bathroom for a long time, then I go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee. I can’t bring myself to make one for Art. While the machine is whirring, a message arrives from Dad to the family group chat, with a photo of him and Mam beaming into the camera. She’s holding a medal.
Your mother’s choir won an award at the festival in Germany!
I really didn’t need to worry about them. I always spend so much time and effort worrying about shit that never happens. And then I get whacked by something I never even thought of.
‘There you are!’ says Art, when I finally return to the office. ‘I was going to send out a search party.’
He looks exactly the same as he did earlier. In fact, he might even look more cheerful. You’d never know he was secretly planning to leave in a few weeks.
‘There was a queue for the coffee machine,’ I say.
‘Oh right.’ Art looks at me closely. ‘Are you okay?’
Of course I’m not okay. I can’t believe I have to be normal around him. I just want to curl up in a ball until he goes away.
Like a hedgehog.
‘I’m fine,’ I say sharply. ‘Just stressed. Why are you always asking if I’m okay?’
‘I’m not!’ says Art. ‘Or if I am, it’s because I actually want to know.’
‘Well, now you do.’
‘Okay,’ says Art. ‘Um, Des rang when you were out. He wants me down at the lot at six on Friday for the secret shoot. We’ll have to get going as soon as the official shoot ends.’
‘You’re still okay to direct the scenes, aren’t you?’
‘’Course I am,’ he says. ‘Directing this episode?’ He smiles at me like someone who hasn’t just taken a new job behind my back. ‘It’ll be an honour.’
‘We’d better make sure there’ll be finished scripts, then,’ I say, as casually as I can.
‘We’re on the home stretch now,’ says Art. ‘This’ll all be over soon.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I know.’
Art’s mood remains upbeat as we set to work. I suppose he’s all excited now he’s got a fixed date for his fancy new job. And as the afternoon goes on, I try to remember what Art said – God, how was it only two days ago? – about me being brave. Maybe he’s right. If I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks, it’s that I can deal with a lot more shit than I thought I could. I can survive this thing with Art. After all, in a few weeks he’ll be in New York. Until then, I can make sure he has no idea I care about him or anything he does. I can make sure he has no idea how much he’s hurt me.
Fake it till you make it, right? I might actually be able to do that until he leaves. I just wish I didn’t have to.