But I should have known I wouldn’t be good at faking it for long.
Chapter Twenty-Five
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE / INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES / INT: DORSET STREET BAR
‘You know,’ says Roo on Wednesday morning, after I’ve presented her with her card and a beautiful French tarot book, ‘you don’t have to come tonight if you don’t feel up to it. It’s not a big birthday or anything.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘Of course I’m coming!’ I might be exhausted and heartbroken, but there is absolutely no way I’m missing Roo’s birthday bash. ‘I haven’t been here for your birthday for years! I won’t be able to stay late, but I’ll be there.’ I pick up my laptop bag. ‘Anway, I’d better go to work.’
‘Maybe you should just ask Art about this job stuff today,’ says Roo.
I shake my head. I’ve thought about this a lot since yesterday. ‘I can’t. Not until this week is over. I just … I’m barely holding it together as it is. I can’t have a bust-up with Art on top of everything else.’
‘Fair enough,’ says Roo. She reaches for her tarot deck and sighs. ‘I suppose I got it wrong with that Two of Cups BFF stuff about you and him the other day.’
‘It made me feel better at the time,’ I say. ‘Go on, draw me a new card.’
Roo shuffles the deck and pulls out a familiar card. The Two of Cups again. We both stare at it.
‘Huh.’ I point at the tarot deck. ‘Maybe it’s broken.’
‘Or maybe,’ says Roo, ‘it’s reminding you to focus on your other friends and not on Art.’
‘Yeah.’ I think of how nice it’s been living with Roo. I think of the Frog Boyfriend group chat and how I really do feel part of the gang again. We’re planning a big night out next week and Claire told me my return has given everyone more reasons to meet up. ‘That must be it. Right, I’m off. How do I look?’
I suddenly have a memory of asking her that on my first day atNorthside, three weeks and a whole lifetime ago, when I had no idea what I was walking into.
Roo studies my turquoise and pink dress.
‘Like someone,’ she says, ‘who doesn’t give a shit about Art Sullivan.’
Just one more day of writing together. That’s what I remind myself as Art and I sit down on the couch and start polishing the top-secret script. After we send Des and Honoria the finished scenes tomorrow morning, that’ll be it. Yes, there’s the shoot on Friday, but Art will be busy directing so I won’t have to talk to him much. And then … well, then I suppose he’ll be quittingNorthsidestraight away. I don’t think he’s unprofessional enough to start his next script and then abandon it. Although who knows?
He was right. I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.
Anyway. I can’t think about that now. I’ve got to finish what might be the most important script of my life.
‘You know what?’ says Art, when we make a quick canteen runto grab some takeaway lunch. ‘I’m going to miss Ma Cusack when we’re finished this script.’
I suspect he’ll forget her the minute he’s on the plane to New York, but he actually sounds like he means it.
‘At least we got to write for her,’ I say. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do that.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘let’s enjoy it while it lasts.’
I wish I could. But it’s like my capacity for enjoyment has been worn out by the last week. And I can’t help wondering when exactly Art is going to tell me about the American job. It takes all my will power to focus on the script and I manage to do it, but it’s hard. God, it’s all so, so hard. I feel totally on edge.
And Art can tell because at around three o’clock he says, ‘I think we need to take a break. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears.’
I can’t pretend this isn’t true. ‘I need to do more yoga.’
‘Well,’ says Art, ‘if you really want to relieve some tension I’m pretty sure we won’t be interrupted by Susan today …’
He looks at me with that now-familiar glint in his eyes and against my will I feel a rush of desire. For a moment I’m tempted to give in to it. For a moment there’s nothing I want more than to give in to it. Just one more time with him. Just once before he goes away forever.
To this mysterious new job that he didn’t bother telling me about.
‘Can we focus on the actual work?’ I say.