Persuading Austen

Eight years should’ve been enough time to move on. Annie knew this in her head but she wished her heart would get with the programme. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. The first few years had been okay. Austen had popped up in bit parts on US crime shows, his American accent getting better each time. It was easy, in between those occasional shocks, to pretend that he didn’t exist.

But then the Google alert she had set up on his name started going wild. He became the British actor who went from obscurity to stardom the night after the first episode of his Netflix show Ten Peaks was released. And suddenly every woman was staying in or hosting parties with her friends to binge-watch the show when the whole of the first season had been released in one go.

He was everywhere: chat shows, internet memes. It wasn’t until the alert led her to a small article online about him dating a US TV star, that she’d taken off the notifications and signed up to a dating site. But he was always there like Banquo’s ghost. She shuddered at the memory of the few blind dates Marie had set her up on. Paunchy merchant bankers who thought John Donne was the new signing for Chelsea.

And really, it wasn’t as if she had any spare room for a half-hearted love affair in her life. Every part outside of work – and sometimes in it – was occupied and furnished by her family and their problems. Manoeuvring through the cluttered junk shop that was her life would take a lot more than most men would like to try. That or they would have to smash through the walls and clear out the detritus.

He could have done that. If she’d let him.

He, Austen Wentworth, written about as the ‘one to watch’ by TV and film journalists everywhere.

But for her, he’d always been the one to watch.

She took a sip of her tea, not caring that the heat was almost too much, revelling in feeling pain somewhere else than the centre of her chest.

The first time she’d seen him was in Stratford-upon-Avon in the doorway of a dusty rehearsal room. He was propped against the wall, the script dangling from his hand as he leant his head back, eyes closed. His lips moving, muttering his lines, and even before he opened his eyes she’d been hooked. The legs, that now had fan fiction written about them, had been a bit ganglier then. When she’d tried to step over them to get into the room they’d tangled with hers; she’d started to fall. He’d caught her round the waist.

‘Oops,’ he said as she landed on his chest.

‘Hi,’ she whispered. His eyes were so green. She’d spent days afterwards trying to find an exact match for the shade. She’d had to settle for bottle green glistening in the sun.

He was playing Lodovico to her dad’s Othello. A small part but it was with the RSC, and Austen was fresh from drama school and bouncing on his toes to get somewhere, to prove to his parents that being an actor wasn’t a complete waste of time. Annie had gone to act as Dad’s assistant, knowing that if he was left on his own who knew what nonsense he would get up to or what scandal could come from his indiscretions.

And because they were the youngest ones there, they had naturally stuck together.

Annie remembered those months as if it had been constructed and lit by an Oscar-winning cinematographer. Golden days and nights, vignettes of Austen and her locked in their own world.

‘We’ll get married and go to Hollywood and rent a little apartment. I’ll audition; you can be free to do what you want to do. And then when I make it big …’ His smile was wide as the world, as he hugged her to him. Admittedly his teeth had been a little less white in those days.

Her heart clenched even now and more tea spilled. All those dreams that had died and dried up and blown away.

Who got married at twenty-four to a penniless actor who only had his looks to recommend him? she heard her dad say, echoed by Aunt Lil, her mum’s best friend who was also her godmother. It was stupid beyond words, Lil had said. Didn’t she know how fickle the industry was?

And what would she do in Hollywood except become some housewife? It wasn’t as if she could do anything, was it? And why would she want to be away from her family? Hadn’t she made that promise? And once the idea was planted in her head, once it got its roots in her that she would be disposable again, could be disposable again … that she would be breaking her promise …

Her mobile rang and half the cup of tea ended up on the desk. Cursing quietly she grabbed some tissues and tried to mop it up at the same time as taking the call without checking the caller ID.

‘Hello.’

‘Annie, where are you? You should be here by now. You know it’s Angelique’s day off and I need to get ready for the awards show tonight.’ Marie’s voice ran out the last of her Austen Wentworth memories for the moment. It had an edge to it that cut through most things.

Bugger. She’d promised to babysit. So much for hiding away at work.

‘I’m on my way.’ Annie hung up and then briefly rolled her forehead on the desk, not caring about the dampness and the faint aroma of tea she was now carrying. Sighing, she pushed herself up. Pastries would have to wait for another day.

***

Standing rocking in the Tube she held on to the strap and wondered whether she should’ve picked up a bag of Haribo to bribe the kids with. Marie had done a whole segment last year for Easy Ladies on the dangers of sugar. Ever since then sugar was treated like a class A drug in her household.

Annie came off the Tube at Pimlico. The wind had picked up and whirled round the exit. She pulled her scarf further up over the bottom of her face. Before she headed up Tachbrook Street to Marie’s house, she popped into the corner shop. Annie grabbed the largest bag of Haribo she could see for the boys and a bar of Lindt chocolate that she would slip to Charlie. Ever since she discovered him in her kitchen looking guilty with a tell-tale smear of chocolate by his mouth, she’d kept him in chocolate. He might be a successful investment banker but in his own house he was definitely the second-class citizen.

Annie stood at the till waiting to pay and then she saw Austen Wentworth.

Her heart dropped as if falling off a cliff. It started beating again after it hit the floor.

Austen wasn’t actually there. No, it was his face on glossy paper staring at her. Make that faces. He was on the front cover of at least three gossip magazines.

‘Austen Wentworth – tells all on life and love’

‘Austen gives hope to women everywhere’

‘Austen Wentworth – who is he dating?’

Her fingers itched to pick them up. Surely it was better that she knew what was happening? Her hand reached out.

No.

She pulled it back.

But what if it was only one, for research?

Annie felt like a smoker being peer pressured into ‘just one more cigarette’.

‘Next,’ called the newsagent.

Annie moved forward and put down the Haribo and chocolate.

‘Anything else?’ The question hung there.

Two minutes later she shuffled out of the shop clutching a blue plastic bag, the tops of three glossy magazines peeking from it.

She was pathetic. She’d been clean for years.

Buying them didn’t mean reading them though.

She could leave them for Marie, as untouched as they were now. No thumbprints on the pages.

She was glad she’d added a bag of crisps. She needed the comfort.

***

‘Darling,’ Marie said. Annie winced at the volume. Marie then descended on her in a swirl of heavy floral perfume and pressed her cheek against Annie’s. The touch was fleeting.

When was the last time she’d had a proper hug from someone? Annie sighed – too long ago. She was sure her family loved her. If they thought about her, which wasn’t often.

‘Auntie Annie.’

Her knees came under attack from Archie and Hector. Okay so she did get hugs. Maybe she should amend that to grown-up hugs, ones with less snot.