It took much, much longer than I had expected, but finally I heard an engine rumbling nearer. When I went to the door and looked out, I saw that it was Jo, in her SUV, pulling up to the cabin. She motioned for me to come out and she threw the passenger door open. ‘Quick, Taz, get in here. Are you all right? What happened?’

‘Well, the roof collapsed under the rain…’ said I, tactically omitting the rest, counting on it that Quent would have done the same. ‘Scared the living daylights out of me. It was directly over my bed. Imagine if I’d been sleeping when it happened! There was… some of my stuff on the bed, which was soaked, and the bed itself, it’s more like a waterbed now…’ I giggled, nervously.

‘And Quentin?’ said Jo, looking at me sideways.

‘Well, he came by to… to say goodbye, as he’s apparently leaving in the morning, and he helped me get my stuff in when it started to rain – I was working outside earlier. So he saw it happen, the roof. And then he left to get help.’

‘Taz,’ said Jo, pensively, navigating the dirt track with practiced care, ‘not that it’s any of my business, but it started raining over an hour and a half ago…’

I felt myself blush.

‘And you say that Quent dropped by before that? You’ve spent all that time together then?’

‘Y-yes,’ I stammered, ‘we, erm, we talked… I asked him about the court case, and about Bree, and he told me what happened. He told me a lot.’

‘He did?’ Jo sounded incredulous. I just felt that she mentally had to sit on her hands to stop herself from dragging the information out of me. ‘And what… Taz, what did you think of what he told you? Did you get any more, um, clairsentient messages?’

Jo was a very smart lady. She reckoned I might not have told her if she asked me straight out what Quentin said, but this way, we might talk about my experiences, and she could perhaps get just enough information out of me to satisfy her maternal needs.

‘I don’t mind talking about it, Jo, and Quentin did not say it was under embargo or anything…’ I smiled at her and felt a shiver run down my spine as my mind quietly wandered back to what we had been doing right before the roof came down. That definitely was under embargo.

‘So…?’ She couldn’t contain herself.

‘Well he told me how he met Bree, and how much she meant to him, and how they broke up after the Oscars, but got back together later on…’

‘I’m sure she blew him off for her husband then because he won it, and Quent didn’t. But my son doesn’t want me to say that.’

‘God. That’s awful. Are you sure, Jo?’

We had ended up at the big house and Jo killed the engine, but stayed put in the car. The rain still pounded on the roof. She looked at me. ‘I am more than sure. Brianna is the sort of woman who would make such a choice, I have not a doubt in the world. And it probably really was, at that point in time, the best move for her own career. She was still up and coming and it would have been much better for her to hang on to her Oscar-winning husband, go to the Hollywood parties he was going to, meet the important people that would crowd around him… Quent just went home after he didn’t get it.’

‘Quentin also told me that they broke up a second time, after he lost his work permit, partly because the bad press he was getting wasn’t too good for her career. I thought that was equally horrific, but he was quite matter-of-fact about it.’

‘Yes, he knows how it works in that world. But don’t be fooled by his professionalism, Taz; I know that she broke his heart. I know that all he wanted was to just take her home to the farm and live happily ever after, when the court case was all over.’

I decided not to bring up the other reason for their break-up Quentin had mentioned: the argument that had caused the phone incident. Quentin hadn’t told me what it had been about, just told me the chronology of it, and that had been hard enough for him as it was. Maybe I should treat that as embargoed information. Better stick to what Jo had figured out already.

‘So, Bree didn’t have the same idyllic view of things as did Quentin,’ I said.

‘No, I reckon she didn’t. In my opinion, she wanted to be a star, and if at all possible a bigger star than Quentin. No way was she going to bury herself here in Oz. So it ended for a second time, and though Quent always maintained that it was by mutual agreement, I’m sure that he would have wanted things to be different. And well,’ she shrugged, ‘at the end of the day, when he couldn’t come home with Bree, he didn’t come home at all, but instead started touring with the band. You know what that amounted to; he was all over the news all the time.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘I believe he did see Bree from time to time, when her schedule allowed, but it wasn’t a relationship. And he was just messing about then, anyway. It was a bad time for him.’ Jo clicked open her seat belt.

‘So, erm, Jo, do you think that he’s… that his happiness that he and Bree are back together again is also, um, sort of a vindication? I mean, apparently he always felt like she was the one for him, but a lot of things seemed to come between them…’

‘What do you mean, Taz, what did you pick up on?’ Jo asked, with a certain amount of urgency.

‘Well,’ I thought for a bit, ‘ When he came back three days ago, with Bree, and I shook his hand, I felt… that he was happy, but in a sort of desperate way. Like it could all go up in smoke at any second. It felt unstable. And for some reason I get the idea that he and Bree are not… totally…’ I mashed my hands together, trying to act out what I couldn’t find the words for.

‘I think I know what you mean. And just between you, me, and the gatepost, Taz, I’m really worried, well… He’s in the news all the time. We may not notice so much of it over here, but apparently there’s a lot of speculation going on in the States, and he’s just… a hot item. Bree may very well only be with him now because he represents the right type of press coverage for her at this point in time, but who knows, she could leave him again soon as the tide turns, or she finds another, better way to promote her career.’

I shivered and rubbed my arms at the thought, ready to scratch out her eyes for even thinking something like that, for using Quentin so. I didn’t even want to think about what it would do to him if he had to go through losing her for a third time. At the same time, quietly, silently, I wished, oh I just wished I held that place in his heart, instead of her. I would never treat him like that, I would just love him, I would… I would… I sighed, hugging myself.

Jo observed me sharply. ‘Taryn?’ she asked with some insistence, ‘You have feelings for him too, don’t you? For Quent. And I don’t mean that you just find him attractive. I can see you’re not interested in his public persona, and I can tell that you really respond to him. As he does to you.’

‘Jo, I…’ I said, shaking my head. I wanted to say no, there’s nothing; my nerves were so raw and frayed from everything that happened that afternoon that putting it into words just seemed impossible. But I couldn’t lie. Not to Jo, who saw right through me anyway. ‘It’s… yes, I have feelings for him. Really strong feelings. I didn’t count on this happening, I wasn’t ready for it. Or looking for it, for that matter. But, Jo, because I can feel him so well, it’s like, oh I don’t know, I guess like we belong, you know? I try to tell myself all the time that it’s ridiculous, things don’t work that way, but…’ I gave her a helpless look.

She didn’t speak, just calmly waited for me to struggle on, to get it out.

I sighed. ‘I was thinking I should leave as soon as possible when he’s off for the court case, but I wanted to have a chat with you first. After all, I came here for you, didn’t I? I really do want to go home now, you know, be on my own turf. I’m sure I’ll be able to work through it once I’m back home. Right now, it’s just… I feel so torn, so drawn to him; it’s really, really painful to know that all he truly wants is for things to work out between Bree and him.’ I kept rubbing my arms as I spoke, my eyes burning.

‘I’m not so sure, Taz,’ Jo said pensively. ‘I’m not so sure all he wants is Bree. Not anymore. I think you’ve shaken him up much more than you give yourself credit for. It’s just that he’s set his mind to it, to having Bree for his wife. He can be like that, you know.’

‘Funny you should say that. Martin told me the exact opposite; he actually warned me of Quentin’s fickle behaviour. Martin said that Quent was in and out of relationships constantly and the only things he had ever been able to focus on were his acting career and Bree.’

‘Oh, Marty! What does he know!’ Jo said exasperatedly. ‘He makes it sound like Quent has the attention span of a three year old. No. Let me tell you what sort of a man my son really is. He can be very focused and very disciplined, even to the point of stubbornness, when he deems something or someone worthy of his undivided attention. Where all the rest is concerned, he just happily goes with the flow. He doesn’t want too much hassle, he just wants to enjoy himself. Now, that may come across as lazy, careless, or even callous at times. But in fact he’s just very selective.’

‘Selective.’ I tasted the word in my mouth. The rain had abated some in the mean time, and was now no more than a light drizzle.

‘Yes. He doesn’t necessarily choose what’s best for him, in my opinion, but I’m his Mum; you know I’m never right.’ She gave me a lopsided grin.

‘But, erm… what do you think would be best for him, as his Mum?’ I couldn’t help asking.

‘Taryn, now, we haven’t known each other that long, but I believe I know what sort of girl you really are. Woman, I should say. And if I had any say in this, I would…’ She suddenly seemed embarrassed. ‘But I reckon it’s none of my business.’

‘No, go on, please.’

‘Well. You and Quent… I would breathe a lot easier.’ She left it at that, opened the car door and got out.

I gathered up my stuff and followed her into the house, my heart sinking. And where was Quentin? Had he just sent over his Mum to come and get me, had he forgotten about me the moment he left the cabin? I wanted to know where he was, what he was thinking, how he would look at me, what he would say. I had all the symptoms and I hated myself for it.

Inside the house it was warm, and dry. Jo took me to the guest room downstairs, the same one that I had ended up in with Quent, only three days ago. Three days! Can you imagine?  I looked around, scanning for any residue of the atmosphere when we were there together, for any trace of him. There was nothing there, of course. I’m an embarrassment to myself, sometimes. Hopeless, clueless.

‘Here, Taz, now go and have a nice hot shower, eh? I put in clean towels and bed linen,’ Jo said, giving me a little motherly hug and leaving me to it.

I started to get some of my stuff out of my bag, hanging the wet rags out to dry. I held up the top I was wearing earlier and the feeling of Quent pulling it up and over my head, and the feeling of his skin on mine, undulated through me, hot and heady. I had to close my eyes and stood swaying on my feet from wanting him. This was ridiculous; I hadn’t been this lovesick since I was in A levels.

Then, I heard footsteps storming down the stairs and loud voices coming from the direction of the kitchen. Not so loud that I could make out what was said, but I had no doubt that it was a full-blown row. I recognized Brianna’s whine, with Quentin’s low growl in counterpoint, so I listened all the harder, but couldn’t, just couldn’t hear. Quentin’s voice rose, and then I could make out a ‘…can’t fuckin’ believe we’re even discussing…’ followed by more whining from Bree. I dragged myself into the shower before I ended up with my ear against the door. That would just be too embarrassing, and too base.

The water was hot and it battered me thoroughly. Within moments, the bathroom was filled with steam, which was, in a way, comforting. I felt like hiding. I also felt totally frustrated with pent up sexual energy. So, I peered around the shower curtain (as if anyone would be standing in the bathroom. How Psycho!), hid in the corner of the shower, scrunched up my face and touched myself with one tentative finger. And almost immediately came to a shuddering climax. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not that shy, and enjoy a healthy relationship with my right hand. Especially this last time period, when lovers were few and far between, and the ones that did present themselves turned out to be no good in the end. But I felt weird, trying to find release from this. It was too practical, too technical for the feelings I had. I wanted Quent. Nothing else would do.

Eventually, I came out of the shower, clean and rosy. I gave myself a good toweling off, put on my trackies and sat down on the bed, dead tired and at the same time too fraught to sleep. The row Bree and Quent were having seemed to have petered out – I didn’t hear any more shouting. But of course, I then remembered Sadie telling me how they had made up the last time, and the image of Quentin making love to Bree seared the insides of my eyelids. I flopped back on the bed with an arm over my eyes, trying to get rid of it.

Then, to my shock and surprise, the row erupted again, almost directly outside my door. I clearly heard Quentin, annoyed but determined: ‘I need to talk to Taz, see if she’s OK. I really don’t give a fuck how you feel about it, Bree, she’s a mate and she’s…’

Bree, nagging: ‘Quentin Finch, in case you have forgotten, I am your fiancée. I will not tolerate you messing with other women any more. I just won’t stomach it. We both know exactly what sort of man you are, so there’s no point denying it.’

Quentin made a noise that could only express utter disbelief.

Bree went on regardless: ‘First, you disappear for almost two hours and then you tell me this laughably feeble story about a leaking roof; it’s insulting my intelligence if you actually think I’m going to believe even for one second…’

Quentin, murderous now: ‘Bloody hell, you deaf as well as thick?! The cabin practically came down on top of us! How many times do I have to tell you?! Why don’t you just rock on over and see for yourself. Go on, take a shuftee, do yourself a favour. Stop fuckin’… insulting my intelligence, accusing me like that, there’s fuck all truth to what you’re implyin’ and you know it as well as I do. You know I never... when we were together; I just… Christ, Bree, don’t be so fuckin’ unreasonable!’ And here he opened the door, took two wild steps inside the room and slammed the door shut behind him. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he looked hounded. He stood there for a bit, in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, trying to get a handle on his anger. I felt it burning, a bright blue flame in the pit of my stomach.

I sat up slowly, looking at him, not saying anything.

He had one hand in his side, the other in his hair, working on an even more disheveled look. Breathing in and out, in and out, then slowly turning towards me, he grunted,  ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

I kept still.

‘You OK then?’ he managed, still fighting his rage.

‘Y-yes I think so… You?’ said I, softly, getting up from the bed.

‘Physically, I’m fine,’ he said, finally calming a little. ‘For the rest… if I was in the US right now, I’d plead the fifth.’ He raked his fingers through his mop, looked at the door and flapped a hand. ‘Don’t give yourself any grief over all the, eh...’ he took another deep, steadying breath before continuing, ‘...all the noising off; Bree’s upset ‘coz she didn’t know where I was. She’ll be right, reckon.’ It sounded like half an apology and half self-reassurance.

‘Um, I’m really sorry if I caused you any....’

He shook his head and held up a finger to stop me. I left my sentence hanging in the air. ‘No apologies, remember?’ he said.

I nodded.

We stood there for a sec, looking at each other, not entirely sure what to do or say. Then suddenly he thought of something; I could almost see a little light bulb plop into existence above his head. His face is so expressive.

He dug in his pocket and got out his mobile. ‘Quick, now, give us your number, Taz,’ he said, dashing another look over his shoulder towards the door.

‘Oh… OK, just a sec,’ I said, and got my own mobile out. ‘Hang on, I don’t know it by heart. I never phone myself.’ I punched a couple of buttons until my number came up on the screen and I held it up for him to see.

A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he added it, fiddled with his mobile some more and put it in his pocket again. A few seconds later, a text message popped up on my phone. It said ‘xq’. I put his name to the number and threw the mobile back into my holdall.

We stood there smiling at each other like we’d done something illegal. Which, come to think of it, to a certain extent we had: up until now everything that had happened had been much more chance than choice, and we could still tell ourselves that it all had been a coincidence, and therefore not exactly... well... cheating. Now, swapping phone numbers was a definite act of choice. Wanting to stay in touch, a conscious decision. If he’d ever ring, that is. I was going to leave the ball in his court – after all, he was the one with the wedding plans.

‘You really think you’ll ring?’ I inquired, as lighthearted as I could. ‘You’ll never have the time, once you’re back in the middle of it all….’

‘Yes, I will.’ He sounded very determined. ‘I’ll want to know how things are, here.’ He took two quick strides, grasped both my hands and whispered: ‘I’ll need to hear you, Taz, don’t you know that?’ He then laid his cheek against mine for an instant.

His emotions were overpowering. There was drive there, and pride, and a strong sense of obligation, but also an enormous longing and a fathomless lonely agony. And something small, but warm, soft, and red, caring, and selfless, hopeful and happy… Something very beautiful, something I hadn’t sensed coming from him before. I couldn’t put a name to it straight away.

Suddenly he let go of me, stepped back, gave me one last look and went out.

I sat back on the bed, reeling. That lonely, amputated feeling tugged at me; a rope around my neck. Maybe, probably, I’d never see him again, and I seriously doubted he’d ever actually ring me up. I was quite sure that whatever would happen in the US would distract him more than he was counting on right now. He would probably forget about me the moment he got off the plane. And maybe, maybe if I’d manage to get my arse back home any time soon, I would be able to forget him as well, him and his damn emotional broadcasts.

So, what did we have on Quentin Radio? The drive: that was his acting career. That was easy. The obligation… perhaps that was, in a sense, Brianna. If it was indeed like Jo had said and he had literally set his mind to wanting her for his wife, I could see how the marriage could almost become a thing of duty rather than anything else. In that light, I could also understand the sense of loneliness: it might very well be that he had certain ideas of how the relationship should be, or would be, which might not turn out to match reality. After all, he’d had more than enough time to fantasize about it and the real Bree probably was a different person altogether.

I hesitated. Was I reading into things again?  It was so tempting. But then again… If he really wanted a deep, lasting relationship and a family, if he really was the sort of man who needed lots of cuddles – Sadie’s face popped up in my mind’s eye and I smiled – I could understand his longing, too.

And what was that other emotion? The one I couldn’t name? I thought about it long and hard, and the only thing that came to me was that it had felt like it wasn’t allowed much room in his head. Or his heart. It was the most beautiful, the purest of them all, and I was sure that, if Quentin would allow it to blossom, he’ d be truly happy. What a shame if he were to deny himself that...

~*~

I can barely remember how I got through dinner that evening. Both Quentin and Bree were absent: Bree refused to eat because she was too upset and Quentin apparently had stomped out with half a loaf of bread and some meat that he got his hands on before Jo could stop him. He said he was going to find his brother.

Jo wasn’t in the best of moods. She even went so far as to admit that she would actually be relieved when Brianna and Quentin would get on that helicopter in the morning. She told me and Sadie, the only ones to join her, that Bree had started yelling at Quentin the instant he came running into the big house, dripping wet. According to Jo, Bree had been insanely jealous and totally unreasonable, and Quentin eventually had asked Jo to fetch me back to the house, as Bree didn’t give him a chance to go out again.

I kept silent during dinner. Only when Sadie asked me what exactly had happened that afternoon in the cabin, I repeated what I told Jo, and left it at that. And when we were done, I went to my room, fiddled around with my laptop for a bit and finally managed to fall asleep. My mobile was within reach, as if having his number in my address book was somehow comforting.

The next morning, I woke at six. What a surprise. I stared at the ceiling for a while and apparently eventually dozed off again, because the next thing I knew, the noise of rotor blades startled me. I sat up in the bed and felt my heart squeeze in my chest. He was leaving. I would get going too, maybe tomorrow or the day after, and I would never see him again. I wanted to go to the window, watch him go, watch the heli take off, but at the same time I wanted to hide my head under my pillow until it was all over, so I ended up not moving at all; sitting there frozen upright in the bed until the sound of the engine had died away. Only then did I get up, slowly and painfully, and dragged myself into the shower. I felt like I had been run over by a truck.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not overly dramatic, I’m actually quite practical most of the time. I just felt like I had gotten run over by a truck. End of story.

As the hot water scorched my back I started to think about what I would do once I got back home, and I thought I could see some sort of way out of this emotional quagmire. It wasn’t the M1 yet, it was more like a narrow country lane, but it was a beginning. I would get my life back on track, I would forget about all this madness, and eventually it would be a memory, a strange pocket of time outside the real world.

Maybe if the next schoolgirl would email me the inevitable five questions for her literature project, I would use this experience to answer ‘what’s the weirdest thing that ever happened to you as a writer’. The weirdest thing ever to happen to me was meeting Quentin Finch. Quentin Finch? Yes, I knew him once. I really fancied him, and I ‘d like to think he fancied me too. But it was a long time ago and you never know, do you, with these big film stars.

At a quarter past nine I was ready for some brekkie, to use Sadie’s terminology. I reached for the doorknob when suddenly my other hand shot out and grabbed my mobile, lying on the night table. I stuffed it in my pocket like it was a good luck charm. Definitely, definitely not the M1 yet.

I was late. Only Jo was left in the kitchen, waiting for me with a glass of OJ and a cup of tea. We sat there in silence as I munched on a cheese sandwich. Jo eventually pushed an Australian newspaper under my nose; the headline read: ‘Finch to flee the nest’. It was a big piece about the court case and the work permit, and it featured an old photo of Quentin and Bree, speculating heavily about the two of them getting back together again. I read it diagonally, then put it aside.

‘You sleep well, Taz?’ Jo finally asked.

‘Mmm,’

‘Did the heli wake you up?’

‘Yes,’ I drank my tea.

‘I’m glad, in a sense, that things are set in motion now,’ Jo continued after a bit, ‘hopefully Quent will get his permit back, and they’ll marry, and he’ll get what he always wanted.’ She steepled her fingers. ‘I guess they’ll have to live in LA, and I know he hates it there, but I suppose there’s no hope for them moving back here once they are man and wife. I can’t imagine Bree wanting to live in Sydney with Quent, let alone here.’

I shook my head. ‘Can’t imagine, either.’

We sat in silence some more.

‘So do you still want to leave as well?’ Jo said.

‘I guess so. Maybe in a day or two. I’d have to make some calls to get the flights lined up…’ I gazed at Jo, but didn’t really see her. I saw the beautiful view out of the kitchen windows, I saw the morning sunlight slanting on the grass and I suddenly felt that I would really, really miss this place if I left. Not just Quentin, this place too. ‘I really like it here, Jo, I actually had a lovely time staying with you. It was strange, and upsetting, and I feel really weird and really sad, but at the same time, I loved being here.’

‘You sound as if you’re saying your goodbyes already,’ Jo said, resignation in her voice.

‘Maybe I am,’ I said, ‘maybe I’m just…’

And then, suddenly, my mobile sounded its little digital music. I jumped, because I didn’t normally carry it around; usually it just sat in my bag and was only used for hooking up my laptop to the Internet. I actually hate getting calls on my mobile, I don’t like the idea of being available for communication 24-7.

So, I frowned as I fumbled to get it out of my pocket. It said Quent in the screen.

‘H-hello?’ My heart thudded.

‘Taz?’ Quentin whispered in my ear. ‘Hold on a tick,’

I heard a door open, it sounded like he stepped outside, then I heard him light up. As he exhaled, he spoke to me again, soft and low. ‘ I’m, in, erm, in Sydney at the moment, I need to pick up some stuff at my house here, and I’m waiting for some folks to come by. My security guy, Ron, my press lady; Bree’s got a PA hanging around here somewhere…’

‘Are they all coming with you?’ I whispered back to him, then I realized how ridiculous that was, and continued in my normal voice: ‘I had no idea you traveled with such a big retinue.’

‘Mmm, this is actually a small retinue, luv, I’ve been known to drag half of Sydney with me across the ocean and back.’ He chuckled. He sounded different, he sounded just like when he came back to the farm with Bree. Almost as if he was overdoing it. But then he said, in a suddenly small voice: ‘Um, Tazzie? I’m sending my Martin over. Will you look after it till I get back?’

‘Your…?’ For an instant I thought he was talking about his brother.

‘My guitar.’

‘Oh, uh, yes, of course I’ll look after it… But I thought you said you’d probably be gone for a long time? You thought you’d get into all these interesting projects…?’ My voice trailed off.

Jo was looking at me, her eyebrows almost in her hairline. She mouthed ‘Quentin?’ at me, and I nodded.

‘Yes, well,’ said Quentin, and I heard him breathe out another cloud of smoke, ‘I can’t say, can I? I just dunno what will happen, and I’d feel better about it if I knew my guitar was there with you.’

‘I’m…’ I hesitated.

‘What, Taz?’ he now sounded hurried, and a little exasperated, as if we didn’t have much time.

‘I’m probably leaving, myself, Quent, I’m planning to go back to London in a couple of days.’

Another audible exhale, sharp this time, followed by a ‘…fuck.’ His voice low, and strangled.

‘Quent?’

I now heard the sound of voices in the background; one of them distinctly Bree’s. They were coming closer, but I couldn’t make anything out.

‘Get back to you later,’ he snapped, and then the connection was lost.

I stared at the mobile like it could tell me the purpose of existence.

‘What did he say, Taz?’ Jo asked.

‘He told me he was in Sydney, and that he was waiting for some people to join him, and that he wanted me to look after his guitar, his Martin. He’s sending it over. And then he suddenly hung up.’

Jo looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. ‘He’s had that guitar since he was fourteen.’  Then she got up to put the kettle on and continued, over her shoulder. ‘He never lets anyone touch it, not even Pete, his oldest mate, who’s been with him in the band from the very beginning.’

I felt immensely flattered, I really did. I know it’s stupid and I honestly can’t believe my own gullibility. He was sending his favourite guitar over. Asked me to look after it – and why, in heaven’s name? I was sure it would be quite safe at the farm, with or without my help, but there I was. Beaming with pride, my heart filling with that warm, sloshy feeling. I would look after a woolly mammoth for him, if he asked me. An alligator half a mile long. A T-rex. Anything.

‘Taz, I’m serious,’ Jo said. ‘It’s a very special gesture for him to make. I think maybe you should wait a few days before you go home, see how this pans out. Don’t you think so?’

‘Wait for what, Jo?’ I wanted to know. ‘Wait for him to give up Bree? To get his permit back? What do you think is going to happen when he does? He’ll get back into filming straight away and he won’t have much time for me, or anyone else, sitting around here watching his guitar. I don’t believe there’s anything to pan out, and I just want to go home and curl up in a corner until I feel normal again.’

‘Really?’  Jo asked. She gave me a long, hard look. ‘Do you really, Taz?’

I nodded.

She left it at that.

~*~

To my surprise (and, let’s be honest, delight), Quentin phoned me twice more, in the course of that morning. Both times, I jumped when my mobile rang, and my heart rate reached dangerous levels. First time, he only told me they were now about to leave for Kingsford Smith, then he abruptly hung up again, and the second time he rung to tell me that they actually were at the airport. He was in the VIP lounge, he said. His voice sounded strange, hollow, and I suddenly knew that he was calling from the men’s room. He said that he wouldn’t be able to ring again until he had landed in LA, which would be roughly fifteen hours later.

‘Are you in the lavs, Quent?’ I asked.

‘Um, well, a bit of privacy is hard to come by, luv, now that I’m on the move,’ he said, ‘I miss the farm already.’

‘Oh,’ said I, feeling stupid. I wanted to say something along the lines of, “well why did you leave, then?” but didn’t dare to.

‘So… About what you said earlier,’ he went on.

‘What was that?’

‘About… going back to London… Are you, did you make up your mind yet, about the when… Um, I mean, bloody hell, Tazzie, can’t you just…’

‘What, Quent?’

‘I dunno, just wait a bit,’ he said in this really small voice.

I kept silent.

‘Taz?’

‘Yes, I’m here,’

‘My Martin will get to you tomorrow or the day after.’ He sighed. ‘I should get moving, we’re supposed to board in a few minutes.’

I felt like I had a hole in my heart; I just hated the fact that he was so far away already and going farther still. ‘Listen, I’ll wait for your guitar to get here, all right, then I’ll decide on what to do, when to go home. That OK?’

‘Uh...I don’t want you to go anywhere, Taz,’ still in that small voice.

Now it was my turn to sigh. ‘Well I can’t remain at Nana for the rest of my life, now can I?’

He didn’t say anything to that.

‘Will you… will you take care, and travel safely?’ I ventured, after a bit.

‘Oh, no worries on that, I’ll be in good hands… I’ll, Taz, luvvie, I’ll ring back soon as we’ve landed, right? Let you know I’m back on the ground. I’ll…’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ I cut in. I didn’t want him to make promises he couldn’t keep and I knew, I just knew that it was too late already; I’d be sitting here waiting for him to call. Waiting and hurting.

‘I’m sure you’ll be very busy, you’ll probably not have time to…’ I went on.

Now he cut me off: ‘I’ll give you a bell, or I’ll text if there’s no other way, and you should ring me whenever you feel like… when it’s… necessary…’ His voice drifted off and he sighed again.

We really didn’t have anything more to say at that point, but neither of us wanted to end the conversation, break the contact. We just listened to each other breathing for a bit, until it got really awkward. Then, I heard a faint banging and someone calling Quentin’s name.

‘Oh, fuck, that’s Ron, I should get out of here,’ he muttered, ‘Taz, I’ll…’

‘Just go, Quent, and take care.’

‘Righto. Um, later?’

‘Later.’

Again, I found myself staring at my mobile like it had some mystical power. I had to physically shake myself out of it. I paced up and down the guest room, too restless now to sit down and work. Outside, it was still raining, though not as heavily as the day before. What was I going to do? I felt the need for some sort of action, something that would feel as if the healing had started. Wallowing in it is not really my thing; I like to get on with the task at hand, so to speak.

Someone knocked. ‘Taz, you in there?’ Martin.

‘Yeah, I’m here,’ said I, and opened the door.

‘I’m gonna take a gander at the cabin, see if we can fix it some point this century. Wanna come with?’

Here was something to do for me; just what I needed. So I nodded, laced my hiking boots and followed Martin into the rain. And spent the rest of the afternoon DIY-ing like mad. It took my mind off things and made time flit past, and before I knew it, it was time for dinner. Seven more hours to go.

I tried not to, I really did. But I just couldn’t help myself; the rest of the evening I kept sneaking looks at my watch and counting and recounting the hours. Imagining where he would be now, which part of the ocean he would be flying over, how long it would be before my mobile would have me jump out of my skin again… only to be followed by giving myself a severe talking to: of course he isn’t going to phone again, Taryn, don’t be such a bloody silly cow. The second he steps off the plane he’ll probably be surrounded by journalists and fans and God knows who else, and no doubt his phone will be engaged constantly from all the folk wanting to meet with him; he’ll forget all about you, just like Martin said…

Did it help, talking to myself like that? What do you think? Made me ready for the mental hospital, but for the rest it was a pointless exercise. Before I had finished telling myself not to be stupid, I had shot another glance at my watch and the whole thing would start all over again.

I drank more wine than I’d normally do, and Martin enthusiastically encouraged me by filling my glass as often as he could. So, around 11:30, I made my way to the guest room, a bit wobbly, and fell into bed. I slept and didn’t dream, or at least, I didn’t remember.

My mobile rang.

I ascended from a pitch black crater of wine fuddled sleep as quickly as humanly possible and tried to grab it, but it fell off the night table and it lay there buzzing and vibrating on the floor in the darkened room. I couldn’t reach it but tried nonetheless, desperate to pick up before it was too late, and I ended up hanging there limp like a wet newspaper: my upper half draped on the floor and my legs still tangled in the duvet.

‘Wuh?’ I managed to say to the phone, still half asleep, my chin on the floor.

‘Bloody hell, are you all right?’ I heard Quentin say. ‘Did I wake you up? Oh, I’m such a fucker, it’s the middle of the night for you, innit?’ He sounded wide awake. Didn’t he need any sleep?

‘Nuh, I’m… I’m ok, just a bit… fogged… Hang on,’ I walked forward on my elbows until I could get my legs out without scraping my face on the floor, and sat down, my back against the bed.

‘What time is it for you?’ I asked, rubbing my face to wake up.

‘About nine. I just got off the plane; we’re heading towards customs,’ he said, and I could hear he was walking. There were voices in the background, and suddenly I heard Bree, quite close: ‘Who’s that you’re calling, honey?’ She sounded just a tad too eager for the answer.

‘Oh, just… the farm, see if everything’s as it should be,’ he answered her airily. ‘Letting the folks know we’ve landed safely.’

‘Is it Jo?’ Bree inquired.

‘Uh… yes…’ then, to me, no hesitation: ‘Right, so, erm, Mum,’ and I could just hear a hint of a smile in his voice, ‘I kipped on the plane, guess I forgot all about the time difference … Sorry I woke you like that.... Things are running like a beaut so far though; apparently Bree’s PA has arranged for transportation and lodgings and security, so I don’t have to worry about a thing, actually, and neither does Ron. It’s a fuckin’ holiday for him. And Bree and me, we can just focus on the court case and, erm, being together.’ That last bit was a little sugary, as if it was more directed towards Bree than anything else.

‘Hi Jo,’ Bree sang sweetly into the mouthpiece.

‘Um… tell her I said hi,’ I answered.

‘She says hi,’ Quent obediently said to Bree. Then back to me: ‘So, any news on your side?’

‘Martin had a look at the cabin, yesterday afternoon. I helped out where I could.’

‘Oh, that’s great; so do we have to tear down the lot or can we just put in a new roof?’ He sounded enthusiastic.

‘What do you mean we?’ I asked. ‘You’re there, getting your acting career back on track, in case you forgot, and we here’ll fix the cabin.’ I smiled.

‘Christ, Ta-erm, Mum, don’t take the piss, I’m serious! Oh, hold on a tick, I need to get my passport out – there you go, mate,’ this to the immigration officer, and ‘ta,’ when apparently he got his ID back. ‘I’m just saying,’ he went on, ‘I feel like I’m still there, or at least part of me still is, you know?’ he sounded really close by now, like he was hunched over the phone and he had his lips right against the microphone. The mental image of that made me shiver.

‘I know,’ I conceded, and was silent for a bit. I didn’t hear voices in the background any more – apparently he had managed to create a bit of space for himself.

‘I feel like part of me is somewhere else, too,’ I then said softly, my heart pounding high up in my throat, ‘did you by any chance take it with you?’

He guffawed at that, but very quietly. ‘I wish I had. Wish I had the part, and the rest, right here with me, right now.’

‘Yeah? So what would you do if you did?’

I was treading dangerous ground. A phone flirt would not exactly add to my peace of mind, nor would it bring him back or make him more available to me. For some reason though it was easier to be sassy with him like this, not having him around for real, messing with my mind. And, if he was pretending I was his Mum to placate Bree, I reckoned I had the right to tease him a little. Especially with him not being able to speak freely and apparently not willing to hang up either.

‘Do you really want to know…?’ he rumbled suggestively in my ear.

Oh, God, his voice ran through me like electricity. I had goose bumps all over. And I wanted him, I wanted him so badly that I curled up on the floor in a fetal position, cradling the phone that transmitted his voice from the other side of the world with my whole body.

A tiny little sound escaped me, I couldn’t help it, and I whispered, ‘...Quent…’

‘Ah, you’re killing me, luvvie,’ he said, his voice low and wavering ever so slightly.

Then, I heard a door swish open and the background sounds changed abruptly. There was an enormous amount of noise, I heard people shout his name and his breathing changed. It sounded like he was crowded in, and jostled. ‘Later!’ he snapped at me, and the connection was cut.

Fifteen minutes later he texted me: ‘got through ok. am in car. get some zzz in. xq’

I fell asleep with my mobile next to my heart.

Chapter Seven

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