Page 143 of Take Me Away

Another jab of a toe. ‘Babe, I hate to tell you this, but millions of people have seen your boobs, and not because they are on the front page of the Daily Mail, but because they’ve been on screen.’

‘Not the same.’

‘Boobs are boobs.’

‘Piper.’ I pause.

‘Yes?’

‘I love you. But please leave me. I just need to be alone.’

A stretch of silence teases like spun sugar between us. ‘Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ Her jeans rustle again as she walks back away.

I leave my arm across my face.

Denial. I know what this is. A denial I’ve spent the last ten years existing in. I just thought that if I locked away those early days with Vale, I’d be able to forget it. I guess I did in a way – blindly, naively, I went through my life, smiling at cameras, giving interviews, walking the red carpet, and the whole time I felt proud of myself that no one knew what was hidden on the inside.

I must be the best actress, I used to tell myself, because look, no one has a clue.

That Oscar, its weight in my hand, felt earned. Standing on the stage, giving my acceptance speech, I remember holding that golden statue up, a bit like a soldier brandishing a sword, wild with a war cry, and at the time, deep inside me, I’d been waving it at Marcus Vale, screaming in my head, You thought you could break me, but look at what I did.

He’s broken me anyway, hasn’t he?

I’ve been lying to myself. If I hadn’t walked in unexpectedly on Jemima Collins that day, on her knees, paying physically for a chance of success, I would have continued to lie.

Marcus Vale has won. All the things I wanted to hide from Kit Harding and Maggie back in Sea Salt Bay all those years ago, he’s shown them anyway.

It’s all been for nothing.

All this heartbreak.

All this guilt.

I missed the last few years of my grandmother’s life because of him.

And it’s all been for nothing.

The worst is that he’s back in my head, vile little whispers, poisonous endearments.

Stand still, my sweet. They adore you. I made that happen. Look at how much they love you, all because I do.

My lungs let out a wrenching cry that tears up my throat.

No! I want to scream. They love me because of me.

An echo of a laugh rebounds back. Is that what you think? No, darling, it’s because I made you.

That one truth has been chasing me for the best part of a decade, always on my tail, stepping into my shadow. People don’t applaud me because I’m good, or I’m talented. They only see me because that man, that bastard created me.

The front door closes with a soft click.

I’m alone.

The silence should feel peaceful. Instead, it presses down like water.

I roll onto my side, pull the duvet over my head. The darkness is better. Safer. No one can see me here. No one can judge. No one can ask questions I don’t have answers to.

My mind drifts – not intentionally, but because it has nowhere else to go.