Chapter Twenty-One

The fallout from my outburst at Evelyn was both good and bad.

It was awful to have my face plastered everywhere! My tirade had even made it onto the entertainment segments of some news channels.

Having said that, at least 90 percent of the coverage was positive. Apparently people liked the image of a little woman standing up for her man.

I must admit, I was rather proud of myself—even if I would have preferred not to be tabloid fodder at all. Maybe I was slightly ashamed to be happy that Mary at the newsagent would see me vindicated, but on second thought, no. Take that, Mary!

It also led to an avalanche of other people coming forward with stories about Evelyn and her antics, from wronged exes to her former managers to friends she had stabbed in the back.

Luckily, the filming kept me busy for a few more days so I wasn’t tempted to look most of the stuff up. I couldn’t help hearing about some of it from the people around me, though.

I was being painted as the “grieving widow” and Tom as the “gallant gentleman” helping me through those painful times.

Not that I was complaining. Tom certainly was helping me rediscover my sexuality! He helped me at least once a day, in fact. Such gallantry is so rare these days, don’t you think?

Needless to say, Liam was thrilled with this development. Luckily, he didn’t know the extent of Tom’s “help” . . . I hoped!

I wasn’t unhappy either. I was perfectly content for people to think that it was grief that I had to recover from, because it meant my abusive past didn’t have to be aired publicly. I just hoped it stayed that way and no one kicked the hornets’ nest.

I had called my parents the morning after the paparazzi showed up for Evelyn’s little scene so they would be prepared. They had spoken to Liam, and he had told them how to respond to press inquiries.

There were quite a few photographers in the village now, trying to pap us whenever we went out. I couldn’t stop them, so I told myself it was good publicity for Tom’s project.

I was actually able to compartmentalize their intrusion and put it out of my mind for extended periods of time, which was handy. Who knew the ability to ignore unpleasant things would ever come in useful again?

Of course whenever that particular reality intruded, usually in the form of a camera in my face and obnoxious questions that they hoped would get a rise from me, it was a bit of a shock.

Luckily, we only had two more scenes to shoot outside. Both would be on the beach: the proposal scene and the elderly couple walking past that same spot in later life. The paparazzi were actually pretty respectful, at least keeping their distance and using long lenses while we worked. They’d only approach us once we’d finished, but they seemed focused on Tom, probably because he was limping badly.

Our shoot had all been tracking shots, where the cameraman kept pace with the couple, usually walking backward. Tom had to walk along too, or he couldn’t direct the scene and give the actors notes. All that walking on soft sand had taken its toll on his leg. Not to mention how huge it was by then; it almost looked like he had got large water bottles tied onto the back of his calf and thigh.

It had all taken far longer than we’d allowed. The final scene, the eulogy, had to be bumped to the next day as the church had an early evening service. We were finishing relatively early on the beach.

It was a good thing, really, because I didn’t think Tom’s leg could handle a longer day. I had been watching him anxiously as his limp became more pronounced.

“Want me to get the car?” I offered as we walked back down the beach. It would be a five-minute jog, if that, and no more than a minute’s drive to get back.

“Thank you, but no.” He put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not far, and it’s a gentle slope from here.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure.” He flashed me a charming smile, but he looked tired.

I wished I’d thought to bring the car. From this direction, Tom didn’t have to do those difficult town steps so it hadn’t seemed necessary. I think we’d both forgotten how hard sand was for him to walk on.

I saw a photographer approaching as we neared one of the breaks in the seawall.

“Don’t say anything,” Tom warned, knowing how they liked to wind us up.

Unfortunately, a group of three paparazzi had materialized by the time we reached the gate. They showed no sign of moving over to let us out. They were all filming, hoping to catch something noteworthy.

“How’s the leg, Tom?” someone asked.

“Are you in pain?” another added.

It was fairly obvious from his gait that he was in pain. Idiots!

“Excuse me,” Tom said, polite even in his tiredness.

Needless to say, they didn’t move an inch.

“When’s the next surgery?” “Show us your leg.” “Are you going to sue the producers?”

On and on, the inane questions came. Then a fourth photographer joined the melee.

“Stop it!” I said finally. “You are obstructing an injured man who is in pain. Don’t be that guy. Let us pass, please.”

Of course they had to press it.

“It’s a public place?” “Or what?”

“Or I’ll put you on the floor. I don’t want to do that, so please let us pass.”

“That’s assault.” “Yeah, right.” “I’d like to see you try.”

“It’s not assault. You’re obstructing us, which means you’re unlawfully detaining us, which means I have the right to do what’s necessary to get free and bring charges against you.” I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good. “Please move.”

I was glad that I wasn’t yelling. I was a hair’s breadth from snapping and knocking all these men down, but I reminded myself that I needed to be assertive, not aggressive.

“How would Darren feel about you moving on so quickly?”

That question floored me, making me feel as if I’d been punched in the solar plexus and robbed of my air. I later decided that was a good thing, or I might have hurt the man, and that wouldn’t have been good for anyone.

“Hey!” Tom said, his voice calm but his tone brooking no argument. The arm around my shoulder tightened in silent reassurance. “I think it’s time you all took a step back.”

Did he mean literally, or metaphorically as in examining their life choices? Well, either or both would do.

“There a problem?” I heard Jim say.

I turned to see him approaching fast. He was carrying a large bag over one shoulder and had a folding table under the other arm, so he looked rather imposing. A swing from that bag alone could fell even the largest man.

Suddenly the paparazzi retreated to a safe distance, and we were allowed to pass.

Tom rested against the wall as he unclipped his walking stick from his belt and unfolded it. He could have used some support earlier, but the stick was pretty useless on sand.

“You all right?” Jim asked.

“We’re fine,” Tom assured him. “You go on home.”

“I can wait if you’re worried about them coming back.”

They had moved down a short ways, three of the four now focused on Dan and Anna, who were walking at a leisurely pace. Would the paps try something with them too?

Karl was the next to reach us. Although shorter, he was the more muscular of the two. He carried a bag over each shoulder, a bag in one hand, and Tom’s laptop case in the other hand.

“I’ll wait for them,” Karl told us all softly, obviously seeing the way my mind was working. “You get on home and rest that leg.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him. While Jim took off, we began the slow walk home.

Karl overtook us soon after, then Dan and Anna and the hair and makeup girls, but the cameraman arrived at Diane’s house at the same time we did.

Poor Tom was in pain. He took two of his painkillers. I got the mint cream out of Diane’s fridge, and we headed into the dining room to apply it. We wouldn’t be disturbed in there.

Tom sat in the armchair and rolled the leg of his sweats up while I kneeled before him. He moaned as I applied the cool cream. He allowed himself to slouch back in the chair and to close his eyes.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” he purred as I finished and lowered the fabric again. He sat forward and leaned down to kiss me softly. “Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome.” I smiled. “Are you okay?”

He was wearing an odd expression now—wary.

“I’m fine, I just wondered why you spoke to the paparazzi earlier. I told you it’s best not to say anything to them.”

“But they were hounding you!”

“Yes, and I appreciate the sentiment behind it. But I’m used to that.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” I argued rather vehemently.

Tom’s mouth thinned. I could almost see him taking hold of his patience with both hands.

“No, it doesn’t but the moment you talk to them, the value of the footage starts to climb, so it only encourages them. Paps are like sharks—if they smell blood in the water, they get more aggressive and more show up.”

“So what should I have done? Just stood there on the beach with you in pain until they got hungry and decided to leave?” I was feeling defensive now, and that was making me belligerent.

“They left as soon as Jim showed up. You just have to learn to be patient.”

“I can’t do it! I lived with a bully for ten years. I won’t let bullies keep me silent anymore!”

“I can understand that, but—” Tom began, but I cut him off before he could continue.

“Besides, you spoke to them too, if I recall!” I could hear my voice rising in both pitch and volume out of indignation. Soon only dogs would be able to hear me!

“Well, yes. But they took things too far by invoking that man’s name.” His eyes flashed fiercely at me.

I froze as I saw that Tom was getting irate. I didn’t want to argue with him. Why was I doing this?

I really didn’t want to shout at Tom. All those self-help books I’d read over the years said I needed to learn to be assertive. Both parties can leave a disagreement happy, rather than there being a winner or a loser.

I took a deep breath and tried to recall their advice. Don’t attack. Say how you feel. How did I feel? Pissed off, that’s how! I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through my nose for a moment, forcing my fingers to uncurl.

“Okay.” I dragged in another breath and forced it out, watching Tom do the same. “I appreciate you standing up for me, but that feels like you’re saying that you can defend me but I can’t defend you?”

Tom opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. The look he gave me showed that he knew he’d been caught out.

“I know you’re just trying to protect me,” I soothed.

“I was. I am! But I also realize that you handled that well, considering. I . . .” He flushed a little. “I can’t fault your desire to defend me. Sorry.”

“So, friends again?”

“Always.” Tom looked surprised. “Darling, we may argue but we are always friends. Okay?”

I nodded and offered him a shy smile.

“But what do we do next time?” I asked. We might have resolved our feelings this time, but the paps would be back.

“Well, we could both vow to say nothing. Not even if provoked, not even if they attack the other.” He held his hand out for me to shake. “Deal?”

“What is this, some Faustian bargain?” I took his warm hand, and he rubbed his thumb across my knuckles soothingly, then pulled me up beside him to tug me into his arms.

“Could be.” A sly smile played at the edges of his lips. He took his hand back. “Name your terms.”

“Terms?”

“Yes, the first one to talk to a photographer loses and pays the winner . . . maybe twenty pounds?”

“That’s rubbish! A bet has to hinge on something you’re afraid to lose. Otherwise I’d just as soon hand you the twenty quid now and punch the next pap I see!”

“Okay . . .” He smirked as his evil mind worked.

Suddenly, I was having second thoughts. Maybe twenty pounds wasn’t such a bad wager.

“I’ve got it!” His smirk widened.

Oh dear.

“Go on . . . ?” There was a little wariness in my voice.

“The winner buys the loser a sex toy and gets to use it on them.”

Well, that wasn’t as awful as it could have been! I gulped a little when I considered Tom with a sex toy, and then I smiled as I considered how I might torture him.

“Okay, except the loser buys the toy and the winner can use it however they see fit . . . within reason,” I added cautiously.

“Deal.” He held his hand out again, and I shook it. This was definitely a win-win wager!

“So what toy are you going to buy?” I asked.

“You think you’re going to win?”

“I know I am!” We laughed, but Tom sobered up quickly.

“Seriously, thank you for standing up for me today. I really appreciate that you care enough for me to do that, but please don’t forget to stand up for yourself too. You’re as worthy of defense as I am.”

“Except to paparazzi,” I amended teasingly. Learning to stand up for myself, especially with strangers, was going to take a little more time.

“Well . . .” He thought about it. “That’s like me telling you to stand up for yourself and you picking a fight with a lion.”

“That’s hardly a fair comparison,” I argued. “Lions aren’t bottom-feeders.”

“Agreed,” he conceded with a grin.

I sighed. Only four days of being chased by the press, and I’d had enough.

“I just wish the bastards would go away and move on already. Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Well, it is their job. So no,” Tom said, entirely too reasonably to my mind. “But if you want revenge, I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Just keeping my mouth shut seemed entirely too passive, so a little revenge sounded good!

“I know a couple of people who have worn the same outfit several days in a row. It means the pictures of them can’t be dated, and their value plummets.”

“You want me to wear the same outfit every day?”

“Well, yes. But it doesn’t have to be the same clothes, just always a pair of blue jeans. Buy maybe three or four of the same top, and pair the whole thing with the same coat and shoes.”

That was very doable, actually. I pretty much wore jeans every day anyway, so only my top half changed. I usually wore one of two coats, but I could stick to one for a while.

“You’re not just a pretty face, are you?” I teased him.

“No,” he assured me seriously. “I also have a fantastic bottom.”

“And I am so going to enjoy doing naughty things to that fantastic bottom when I win our wager!”

Tom’s answering expression was equal parts fear and lust.

***

After Diane fed us all, Tom and I retired to my house for the night. I finally remembered to turn my phone back on and check my messages. I got a lot of voice mail messages now, mostly from people wanting interviews. I deleted three of those in quick succession.

I almost deleted the fourth one before properly hearing it out, but something made me wait.

“Oh my God!” I ran through to the living room. “You have to listen to this!” I told Tom, replaying the message and putting it on speaker.

“Hi, my name is Sam Goldberg. I’d like to talk to you about an opportunity. I’ve been seeing a lot of your images online recently, and I’d like to discuss the possibility of a partnership. I worked in a gallery for five years, I’ve been a dealer for the past three years, and I branched out on my own toward the end of last year. I sell predominantly online, but I have some very high-profile clients and interior designers who would just love your work. My site is Masterpiece-Gallery-dot-net, so please take a look. You’ll see that we handle predominantly prints. We have a lot of photographers’ work, but we also do licensed art prints. Being with us will help bring you to the attention of some important people. If you’d like to talk, give me a call. Maybe we can arrange to meet for lunch sometime soon.”

Tom was wearing as big a grin as I was by the end. Once I hung up, he swept me into his arms and hugged me tightly.

“Good things are going to happen for you. I can feel it,” Tom assured me.

I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

“They already are.” I kissed him reverently, trailing my fingers over his cheek, hoping he knew that he was the positive change in my life that had caused all this.

My meaningful and emotional kiss soon turned rather hot and heavy, however.

“Let’s take this to the kitchen,” I panted when I finally came up for air.

“Good idea.”

I grabbed the condoms from on top of the fridge, pulled the window blind just in case of roaming paparazzi, and hopped up on the kitchen table with an eager grin.

***

Wearing the same thing every day was easier than I thought. I’d worn a navy jumper the day before, and I had a few blue jumpers that were virtually identical unless you laid them side by side.

You may think this weird, but what can I say? I like blue—and avoiding doing laundry for as long as possible.

Tom also wore the same, or a very similar, T-shirt under his hoodie.

Two photographers caught us loading the cars the next morning and followed us to the church. They stayed outside, trying to get pictures through the windows.

As luck would have it, the church was surrounded by residential gardens. Once the police had been called by a pensioner who had been terrified by strange men treading all over her hyacinth bulbs, the paparazzi stayed on the road and waited.

We needed to record sound, so Tom had hired a sound engineer. He would need additional time to set up, but nothing untoward.

Filming the eulogy was one of the hardest scenes because of how emotional it was. Our older actress, Joan, had memorized the whole scene for the play, but we opted not to film it in one long take. Any mistakes would mean starting the almost twenty-minute speech from scratch.

Excluding a couple of retakes after fluffed lines, we did four complete run-throughs, with Tom and Joan comparing notes after each.

For the final quarter of the speech, two rows of the church were filled with “mourners” who would be in the frame, dressed in black and dress hats.

Dan and Anna kindly agreed to play extras, and both had expressed a desire to see the speech performed. I actually think their presence might have been what made Joan fluff her lines a few times. We also had Joan’s real husband and her on-screen husband, Viv and Carol, Jim and Karl, and Diane. With me as well, that was ten of us. We nicely filled up two rows of seating. We had our backs to the camera and were out of focus. We hoped the reuse of the same people wouldn’t be obvious. The ladies all wore hats to disguise themselves, and the men had mostly just styled their hair differently but one was wearing a bad wig—although you couldn’t tell from behind.

The day went swimmingly. We were all pleased with the footage we shot. We finished early, which was good because Tom had a restaurant booked that evening for our wrap party. All the cast, crew, and extras were invited.

After that, Dan and Anna would be returning to London. I was secretly pleased since I hoped they’d take the paparazzi with them.

We were snapped leaving the church, obviously, then followed home and photographed unloading the cars.

I smiled and waved just before going in for the final time—to be sure they got a good look at my outfit!

The next day, everyone left. After saying goodbye to them, Tom had to go for another saline fill. I headed into town, waving at the paparazzi again. I wondered how long it would take them to realize I was always in the same clothes.

The following day, I only spotted two photographers. I hoped that meant that the other two were bright enough to figure out our game and had left.

The day after that, only one remained, but he followed us everywhere! I was getting a little bored with wearing the same thing every day, but it did make getting dressed in the morning easier. It also helped that I knew we were getting a little of our own back.