A Winter’s Tale by Carrie Elks (30)

Everywhere he looked there were reminders of her. The box by the fireplace where they’d first put the puppy, a cardigan she’d left behind on the back of a dining chair. A glass, still lipstick-stained, that he couldn’t even bring himself to touch. He was afraid he’d squeeze it hard enough to break it.

The way his own heart had shattered.

He couldn’t even face going into his bedroom. He’d tried, but the door only opened a crack before he could smell her fragrance – a sweet floral scent that made his stomach clench – and he’d slammed the door firmly shut.

Jesus, what was he supposed to do with himself? He paced up and down the small room, his body as tense as a caged animal, his hands fisted tight. He stopped by the fireplace again, closing his eyes for a moment, remembering the way she’d looked at him as he’d told her he didn’t want her. Her eyes were watery, reflecting the green of the forest behind him, and her lip trembled until she stilled it with her teeth.

And then he got to thinking about the meal. The way everybody knew apart from him. The way they all hid the truth from him as though he didn’t matter. The way she’d sided with his brother when he needed her the most.

He was going to be sick. He ran to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet, but nothing came out. Just a dry retch that made his guts ache the same way his heart did. He lay there for a while, his cheek pressed against the cool floor tiles, before he finally stood and cleaned his mouth and his face. His reflection stared back at him – dark eyes rimmed with red, mouth twisted into a scowl – and he barely recognised himself.

Every now and again he’d look out of the window, his eyes scanning the treeline to see if anybody was coming. Did he want her to come? Hell no. Was he disappointed she didn’t? Damn right he was.

He wanted to give her another piece of his mind. Tell her that her lies had cut him like a knife, only he didn’t think these wounds would heal. No, that was wrong. He wanted to show her that she didn’t affect him at all. That she was just a convenient piece of ass, almost hand delivered to him for Christmas.

If only that were true.

Later, after a run that did nothing to calm his brain, he collapsed in front of the fireplace, ignoring the way even the rug smelled of her. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing only through his mouth, and before he knew it, he’d drifted into a restless sleep. One that made him sweat like crazy and yet still wake up freezing. One that gave him no peace at all.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever find it again.

 

It was as though the whole of LA had decided to shut up shop for Christmas. As the taxi made its way through the city streets, past the lit-up houses and the closed-up shops, she was surprised at how empty the normally blocked roads were. For the first time ever, her journey from the airport to her home took less than half an hour. Just when she’d be happy for the distraction to continue, the cab pulled up at her Melrose apartment.

She paid the driver and pulled her cases up to the front door, tapping her electronic key against the pad to let herself in. She checked their small metal mailbox before calling for the elevator – taking out the pile of mail that had accumulated during their absence.

Her room-mates had gone home for the holidays. When she let herself inside, the place smelled a little stale, as though the air had stayed still for too long.

Flicking on a light, she dragged her cases into the living area – a small space only just big enough to fit a single sofa inside. Taking the pile of letters in her hand she sat down heavily on the cushions, letting her head fall back onto the sofa for a moment.

What a day. No, what a month. The last time she’d been in here was just before she left for West Virginia, her mind full of showreels and assignments, not to mention that internship she still hadn’t got. Speaking of which, a quick sort through the letters revealed another two rejection notes. Way to make her day even worse than it already was.

Not that it could really get much worse. In the history of bad Christmases, this had quickly found its way to the top, eclipsing even the first Christmas Day after her mother had died. At least then she’d been surrounded by family – celebrating the day with her sisters and their father.

Today she was completely and absolutely alone.

And it hurt like hell.

She couldn’t let herself think about him. If she did, she knew the tears would start to fall, and if they started, she wasn’t sure they’d ever stop. She only had to remember the way he’d looked at her just before he turned and made his way back towards the forest to want to cry all over again. He’d stared at her as though she’d stabbed him through the heart with the sharpest of knives.

Maybe she had.

She couldn’t blame him for walking away. She’d betrayed him in the worst kind of way. She’d told herself she was lying to him for his own good, that she’d give him the gift of Christmas Day with his family before telling him about the movie script she’d seen.

But the fact was, it was herself she was protecting. In the end it had taken a seven-year-old boy to do what she couldn’t – to tell Adam the truth about Everett’s plans.

She was so ashamed.

Later, when it felt as though the rest of the world must be sound asleep, Kitty found herself firing up her laptop and typing in his name. So much for not thinking about him. She watched as the search results filled the page, clicking on a link to a video interview with him.

And there he was, in full, glorious detail, the man she’d fallen for, the man she’d hurt. He looked so very different, and yet familiar. In the frozen frame he was beardless, his hair styled in an easy mop, his eyes crinkled the way they did when he smiled.

Damn, she missed his smile.

Even though she knew it was masochistic, she moved the cursor with her mouse, clicking play on the video. It came on to full screen, with Adam sitting cross-legged in a chair, answering the questions posed to him by the interviewer.

‘Did you always want to make documentaries?’

Adam smiled. ‘No, it was something I fell into. I started off studying to become a director. My brother and I had this plan that we were going to be some kind of major force in the film world, with him producing movies and me directing them. But I guess the Coen brothers have nothing to be worried about any more.’ He gave an easy laugh.

From the notes on the video, this interview was at least two years old. She couldn’t tell how old he was here. But his reference to his brother told her that it was made when the two of them were still at least on good terms with each other.

‘So you decided not to become a film director. How did that come about?’

‘I was given an assignment at school. We had to make a ten-minute documentary on a controversial figure. I ended up choosing to interview Lance Beckford – who was on death row at the time. A few months later his appeal came up and he won. There was no direct link between the documentary and his appeal, but somehow I got a taste for the form.’

‘Lance Beckford the LA Bomber?’

‘Except he turned out not to be.’ Adam winked. ‘And from the moment I interviewed him I knew something was really wrong. He seemed innocent to me.’

‘Is that what appealed to you about documentaries?’ the interviewer asked. ‘The ability to right wrongs.’

Adam shook his head. ‘No, it was more elemental than that. I love the way the form gives you the ability to find the pure unadulterated truth. In a world full of lies, it’s important to be able to cut through the bullshit. That’s what appealed to me about it.’

Kitty clicked on the pause button, closing her eyes before the tears started to fall. It hurt way too much to watch him any more. Even hearing his voice made her heart ache.

In a world full of lies, it’s important to be able to cut through the bullshit. He’d certainly managed to cut through hers today. He must hate her for not telling him the truth straight away. For persuading herself that a family Christmas was more important than telling him what she’d found.

God knew, she was starting to hate herself.