Laura warned me against going into hedgehog mode. But if there were ever a time and place to be spiky and self-protective, it’s right now.
‘Yeah, of course,’ says Art. ‘Sorry, I just thought—’
‘Let’s just think about getting this finished,’ I say.
‘Sure,’ says Art. ‘Whatever you want.’
‘It’s not about what I want, Art,’ I say. ‘It’s what we have to do right now.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘We’ll keep working.’
So we do. We tweak and we cut and we find perfect little fixes and at around half seven Art fixes one last typo and says, ‘That’s it.’
We sit back and look at each other. That reallyisit. Our writing partnership is over. And I know I wanted it to end, I know this morning I was counting the hours, but now it’s finally happening I feel sad.
I feel really, really sad.
Even if we thwart Bernard and he retires in a sulk, even if I get to be part of a new era atNorthside, it won’t be the same without Art. I couldn’t have got through the last few weeks without him. He’s made everything so much better here.
Even when he was annoying me.
God, I’ll miss him annoying me so much.
‘Maybe we should give it a few more tweaks …’ I say.
‘No,’ says Art. ‘No more tweaks. It’s done. Let’s sleep on it and have one last look tomorrow morning.’
‘Fine,’ I say.
Art stands up and stretches. ‘God, I think I might need to do some of your yoga, my back’s banjaxed.’
Two weeks ago these words would have made me crow in triumph. I told him he’d destroy his back working on this couch. But I don’t bother saying anything now. I feel flat and empty.
‘I also,’ continues Art, ‘really need the bathroom. Back in a minute.’
My back and shoulders are in bits as well. I’m about to do some stretching when it hits me that I don’t have to hang around here for a minute longer. I quickly stuff my laptop into my bag and grab my jacket. I know he’ll think it’s weird that I’ve vanished without a word but I simply don’t care. I’ll text him later. I slip out of the room and when the lift doors close behind me I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll get a taxi home and then I’ll just about have time to get changed and go to Roo’s birthday party.
At nine o’clock I’m dressed in a glittering gold vintage frock and matching ankle boots as I arrive at the bar where Roo’s celebrations are taking place. The venue is crowded but I spot her as soon as I walk in, chatting to her brother Rafa near the bar. She’s wearing her lace maxi dress and an amazing black feathered headpiece, and she beams as soon as she sees me.
‘You made it!’ she cries. ‘Did you get the script finished?’
I can’t help beaming back. ‘Pretty much. Hey, Rafa.’
‘Welcome home!’ Rafa pulls me in for a hug. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
When he’s at the bar, Roo says, ‘Thanks for coming. I know this week is … a lot for you. WithNorthsideand Art.’
‘You,’ I say, ‘are more important than both those things. Stupid jobs and terrible men may come and go, but you and me are forever.’
I look at her, so glamorous now but still the same girl who stared up at me through the coats when we were twelve. Over the years we’ve always expressed how we felt about each other indirectly. Rainbow opals. Pep talks. Tarot cards. Yelling at mean girls. Making hopeful teas. Throwing out board games.
Maybe it’s finally time we just said it out loud.
‘You know I actually love you, don’t you?’ I say.
Roo makes a face. ‘Ugh, stop being so sappy. If you make me cry I’ll rub my eyes and wreck my make-up.’ Then she smiles at me, a witchy little goddess in her feathered headpiece. ‘But Iactuallylove you too.’
It’s clear neither of us knows what to say after this. But it’s not awkward. It’s never awkward with Roo.