She remembers the first letter she wrote him asking for a job. It was his passion for story she had seen shine through in everything he produced. She had wanted the same for herself.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
‘And then everything caved in. As you know. And I realized that maybe there would be no second chance after all. And with its loss would go … your film, your hopes. Antonia’s. My children’s. My reputation. Friendships with DB and a few others. I’d indulged in the hubris of trying to convince a lover that she is not loved, even as we made love – and the price to be paid for that was everything.
‘I’ve fought it with everything. I have tried to protect you, and my family, and my employees, and myself.’
‘So much to take on.’
‘I don’t wish Amber ill but I wish to God she’d step forward and take it back. But of course she won’t. Because I broke something between us with such cruelty. And so of course she hates me.’
‘Hate is such a strong word …’
‘If I could disentangle the rest of you from this, I would. I hope you know that. I’d take my punishment. But that has proved impossible. So now I have to work to atone, where I can, and protect the ones I love, if I can.
‘I know that when you said nothing about seeing us that night, when you said to the reporters that you were never here – those choices were an act of love. I imagine you might have found it difficult at times. You’re a good person. You must have wondered about me. Could I have done what Amber said I did? Did you know me at all? In my most hopeful moments, I believe you made those choices because you do know me. You know that I could never be violent. Predatory. I can’t make you believe that, I accept that. But I can hope. And I can acknowledge it. You’ve been a friend to me, is the simplest way of putting it. You have chosen to believe the best of me and at a cost to yourself, perhaps.’
‘You’ve been so wonderful to me. You’re the reason I’m doing everything I ever dreamt of doing.’
‘Sam texted me to say you’d refused to cut ties with me, even if it meant seeing your movie break apart. And I know that film means everything to you. So I know you’ve been asked to count the cost of our friendship. And it’s amazing to me that you’ve done that and you’ve decided, yes, the cost is worth bearing.’
Matthew wipes a tear away from his eyes. ‘We’ll get through this, but it won’t be the same as before. I know you won’t forget what I’ve told you today and sometimes I’ll feel humiliated by that. Ashamed. Well, so be it. But other changes will be better. I can’t ever again think of you as my employee. We’ll figure something out but I hope we’ll produce together. I’ll support you, of course, but I have seen who you are. I know you’ve got talent but you’ve got more than that. I want to help you take flight. It’s not a debt, Becky. It’s atonement. It’s clarity. It’s … simply a determination to do better from now on. To deserve the friendship you’ve shown me. And I’ll see that through.’
‘I know you will,’ she says, and she picks up her full glass. ‘To friendship,’ she says.
‘To friendship,’ Matthew says, before they both raise their glasses and put them to their lips at the same time – the best way to seal this thing, this togetherness. She allows the whisky to pass through her lips and flow over her tongue. It is warm and it stings.
Then Matthew turns around and pushes the window wide open for the outside air to finally rush in.
Chapter 20
Becky sleeps, but her dreams feel as vivid and urgent as her waking life: a thousand images, cracked and distorted, like an old television being tuned, passing through the channels and back again.
She wakes to the soft cotton of a heavy duvet holding her down on a mattress dampened with her sweat. She has dreamt of being trapped in a maze made of strings of beads, coloured candyfloss pink and chalk green, like the ones she’d worn to the party at the Hampstead house. Scott’s white-toothed smile. The fray of his jumper at a tanned neck. She was trapped, unable to find a route out, but worse was the sound of her own voice. From somewhere above is the mewling, childish sound of her own crying, that played its soundtrack over the images and, in time, brought her back to waking.
She gets to the office that morning, late, dragging herself to the doors with slow and heavy steps. Her mind feels blank, her heart heavy, her soul on the floor, drained by the effort of simply being.
She makes her calls and writes her emails in the hot and airless office that smells of printer ink and coffee. Siobhan is also subdued. There is none of the usual trickling chat between the two of them, a happy flow of words that usually cuts through their heavy workloads.
Becky edits a press release entitled: Kingfisher Films announce the attachment of Simon Bach to forthcoming feature Medea.
More emails pile
