Chapter Thirty-Eight

It's been four weeks since Theo left for LA. That's almost seven hundred hours of silence and five thousand miles worth of space between us. Not that I'm counting.

I have experienced all the emotions. All of them. Len and I were together for four years and our breakup was nothing to the pain of losing Theo. Four weeks later I still feel like someone is trying to cut my heart out of my chest with a spoon.

Somehow, Theo managed to get the pictures of us taken down from most places. It's the internet, so nothing ever really dies, but all the big news sites pulled them. Whatever Sam said never materializes either, and I have no idea how he did that, but I suspect it involved a lot of money changing hands.

As Theo predicted, the world lost interest in me the instant photos of him and Cyn hit the news cycle. I told myself I wasn't going to look, but of course I did, and when I saw him, his arm slung around her slim shoulders while she beamed up at him, her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, I screamed into my pillow for a solid ten minutes.

They looked great together. Perfect. And even though Theo had told me in no uncertain terms that it was simply a setup, it was too easy to imagine it was real. What made it worse was that I thought in other circumstances I could like Cynthie. There was something about her face, the dry voice I remembered hearing on the phone, that had me thinking we could be friends. Unfortunately, part of me wanted to run her over because she'd put her hand on Theo's ass, and that didn't seem like a great basis for friendship.

The news I've had about Theo has been through three sources, and I have clung to these fragments like an industrious squirrel gathering nuts for winter. The first is a phone call from Lisa the day after we get back from the wedding.

‘Clemmie, I'm so sorry.' I can hear the sadness in her voice. ‘I can't believe he left. I can't believe any of this happened.'

‘It's not your fault,' I say, and my own voice sounds calm, empty. I'm cried out. ‘I'm only sorry it had to happen when it did. Your wedding was so special, and you and Rob really deserved the perfect day.' And then, after a pause, ‘Have you spoken to Theo?' It seems I do have some moisture left inside me, because tears gather in my eyes when I say his name.

‘He's gutted, Clemmie,' Lisa says instantly. ‘I've never heard him sound like that before. I—' She hesitates, and then she adds, softly, ‘Please don't give up on him.'

‘I think he's the one who gave up on me,' I reply sadly. And after that there's not much more to say.

The second piece of news I get is four days later and it comes, unexpectedly, in the form of an email from David.

Clementine,

Mr Eliott is requesting something called a ‘Singing Hen' and I can find no information about what this may be apart from several disturbing YouTube videos. Might you be able to clarify?

David

Dear David,

I think you may mean a Singing Hinny, which is a traditional griddle cake from Northumberland. Sort of a flat scone with raisins. My Granny Mac used to make them. I'll attach the link for the recipe here.

Clemmie

P.S. How is he?

Clementine,

This recipe contains large quantities of butter and lard so I am confused as to when Mr Eliott would have had the opportunity to sample them, given his strict nutritional plan.

David

P.S. I would never discuss the personal life of my employer, nor is it my place to pass judgement on his emotional state. That being said, the man is currently demanding bizarre baked goods, refusing to leave his house, and has developed a worrying obsession with a rather maudlin teenage vampire drama. I will leave you to draw your own conclusions.

In a strange way, it is reassuring to know that Theo is as unhappy as I am, that he's obviously thinking of me. It makes me feel less like I imagined everything that happened between us.

I wonder if David will find someone to make him Singing Hinnies and if Theo will eat them remembering how I cooked them in Granny Mac's kitchen just to feel closer to her when the sweet smell filled the air. Or the way he burned his mouth because he was too impatient not to cram one straight in his mouth when I lifted it off the griddle and then blamed me for making it too hot when I laughed at him. Thinking about it makes my chest hurt.

The other person who talks to me about Theo is Serena. Two weeks after this conversation with David, she tells me Theo has been locked in the recording studio throwing himself into his work. The record label are delighted. My sister's feelings are, understandably, mixed. On the one hand she's delivered the undeliverable album, and on the other her sister's heart is broken. It says a lot about how much she loves me that she feels any qualms about this because she models herself quite earnestly on a frozen-hearted Disney villain and her bosses basically want to throw her a street party.

I decide to follow Theo's example, and I've been working too. I've finished a draft of my children's book (yes, I have reached the point where I can call it a book now) and I sort of love the way it came out. I email it to Serena and Lil, who message me a stream of consciousness as they are reading.

Serena:I always knew somebody would write a book about me one day.

Lil:OMG! I'm already obsessed. The grandma is Granny Mac right? I love how grumpy she is.

Lil:Just snort-laughed at the bit where Maree sets the shed on fire. So Serena.

Serena:That fire was very small and an accident and nothing has ever actually been proven. For any further comment I can refer you to my attorney.

Serena:This is everything. Angry girls are the best.

Lil:Nooooo. I just got to the mermaid. I forgot about the peanut butter sandwiches. This is making my heart hurt.

Serena:Hahahahahaha! Maree is such a badass. I love her.

Lil:Everyone knows Sass is the best character. I wish we could have done a spell to fill my hair with moonlight. Imagine me with MOON HAIR?? I would be unstoppable.

Lil: Clemmie, you are so clever. It is BEAUTIFUL. We are such powerful sister witches.

Serena:Agreed. You need to get this shit published ASAP so that other youngsters can learn from my/Maree's example.

Serena:We're shaping young minds here!!!!!

I'm planning to send the manuscript off to three or four agents who I think might like it. Maybe. I just have to go over it a bit more and dig out some extra courage first. Even in my current, emotionally shattered state, working on the book has felt like a lifeline. It's the first work I've done in a long time that feels good.

I haven't looked at my academic book, nor have I filled out any job applications. I don't know how to come to terms with my not wanting to do either. I'm so tired of it, the precarious nature of it all. I'm tired of working so hard for so long and having nothing to show for it. I can't summon any enthusiasm, a single spark of joy.

This is made worse by the fact that the end of the summer is in sight now, and I really need to make some sort of plan. I can't continue to ignore this problem, because – it seems to me – having a job and somewhere to live are the sort of very basic grown-up duties I shouldn't be failing in at thirty-three years of age. I've dedicated my entire adult life to academia and look where it's got me: sitting in my pyjamas in my mum's house, having an existential crisis.

‘If you have any time to spare, I could use some help with work,' Mum says, coming into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee. ‘We're organizing a big fundraiser right now and I'm spread way too thin with Sandy off on maternity leave.'

‘What's the fundraiser for?' I ask.

‘We're raising money for a programme we run, offering music therapy to refugees and displaced children,' Mum says distractedly, digging around in the empty biscuit tin. (What can I say, I'm eating my feelings.)

‘Oh, that sounds interesting.' I lift my head.

Mum hums. ‘The main thing is, I need someone to help with the organizational side of things. The vendors are all giving me a headache with their different demands.'

‘Of course, I'd be happy to help,' I say. ‘But tell me more about the programme.'

Mum looks at me in surprise. ‘Really?'

‘Yes, really.' I laugh. ‘Why is that such a strange question?'

‘It's not that.' Mum shakes her head. ‘It's only… you've never seemed that interested in my work before.'

A wave of shame washes over me. ‘It's not that I'm not interested. It's just… well, it's complicated, I suppose.'

Mum pulls out a seat across from me. ‘What's complicated about it?' She frowns.

I could duck this conversation, but honestly, ever since I told Theo what Sam said, it's been on my mind. ‘I…' I take a deep breath. ‘I always felt guilty about your work, so I suppose I avoided talking to you about it,' I say awkwardly. ‘Which I realize is really shitty of me.'

‘Guilty? Why on earth would you feel guilty?'

‘Because you had to give up your dream for me.' I squeeze the words out, knowing that I need to say them now. ‘You gave up being a musician because you got pregnant, and I know that it's not my fault, but I always felt bad about it.'

Mum's face is a perfect mask of astonishment. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open. ‘Wait… what?' She shakes her head. ‘You think I gave up singing because I got pregnant?'

It's my turn to frown. ‘Well, yeah. You stopped when you had me because of the way the press were hounding us and you were raising me on your own. Just when you were set to be the next big thing.' I'm explaining it but it feels weird; I mean, this stuff isn't news to her.

Mum taps the table with her fingers, looking into the distance for a moment. There's so much happening in her face I have no idea how she's feeling. ‘Clemmie,' she exhales finally. ‘I wish you had talked to me about this a long time ago.'

‘You know how great I am at avoiding anything that makes me uncomfortable.'

She smiles sadly. ‘I do know. You're so good at keeping things bottled up. I'm your mother and I had no idea you were carrying that around.' She takes my hand in hers, clasping it across the table. ‘Listen to me. I love you with my whole heart but I didn't give up being a musician for you. I didn't give up my dream. I realized that wasn't my dream, so I quit.'

‘You… what?' I manage.

Mum huffs out a breath. ‘I mean I didn't love the press stuff, and it would have been more difficult having a baby with me, but musicians have babies all the time. None of that would have stopped me if it was what I wanted – as long as you were safe and happy too. But after that first record came out, I was miserable. I'd spent years thinking it was going to be everything I wanted, and then I hated it. I felt so isolated and I didn't like all the politics that came with working with a big label. Your dad loved every minute of it; he was made for the whole scene, but I wasn't. My heart just wasn't in it at all.'

I'm totally stunned.

‘The work I do now,' Mum says, and her mouth lifts in a smile, ‘this is my dream job. This is my life's work. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. It just took me a while to figure it all out. Sometimes you have to take a risk, follow a fork in the road you didn't see coming, to end up where you belong.'

I blink. Oh God, I am having too many epiphanies at once. I feel like someone just downloaded a software update into my brain.

‘You really didn't want to be a singer?' I ask, the words rough.

‘Nope,' Mum says firmly. ‘And I'll tell you something else: the last people I'd ever let make a decision for me would be those shitty little men with their cameras.' She pauses here, measuring her words. ‘I know what happened to you as a teenager was extremely painful, darling, and if I could have protected you from that I would have done, but you can't let other people – people who have so little claim on your life – have control over you and your happiness. You can't let them make decisions for you.'

‘You're talking about Theo,' I say flatly. ‘But you sound like Sam. That's just what he would say to keep me with him, that we couldn't let the press stop us from living our lives.'

‘The difference is that Sam was trying to manipulate you and get what he wanted,' she says. ‘The words are right, but he used them to control you. You can't let the press stop you from living your life, not a life that could be filled with joy and love. I know it's hard to stop yourself from caring what they say and do,' – she pauses here to look me in the eye and make sure she has my full attention, that I'm really listening – ‘believe me, I really do know that, but at some point you have to let go of trying to control what other people think of you if it means you're standing in the way of your own happiness.'

I let the words sink in, feel them loosen the knot inside me just a little. They're not magic words that fix the problem, but they help; they give me room to breathe, to consider another way.

‘And,' my mum says, almost casually, but she's not fooling me, ‘I think rather than Sam's words you should focus on Theo's actions. He drew the press away, got straight on to his lawyers and threatened everyone with legal proceedings. He was like a man possessed doing whatever needed to be done to get those pictures taken down. That's not like Sam, who was a sneaky little bastard. Or your father for that matter, who has all the depth of a cheese sandwich. Ripp's a careless man, Clemmie, not a bad one. He doesn't intend to let anyone down; he simply doesn't think.'

She gives me another beady look. ‘This isn't history repeating itself. Just because they share an occupation doesn't mean they are the same. Theo isn't anything like either of them, and for what it's worth, I think he's shown you that.'

I chew on my lip. ‘I just don't know if I'm ready to put myself in the position to test that theory,' I admit. ‘It feels like I would be making myself so… vulnerable.'

Mum laughs then, squeezes my hand. ‘Darling, I have bad news for you. Falling in love is always about making yourself vulnerable. Even when it's not with a rock star.'

‘Uggggggggh.' I drop my head into my hands. ‘Why is it so hard?'

‘I don't know,' Mum says. ‘But I think that's why God invented therapists.'