‘No, you’re not.’
‘You’re right, I’m not. I’ll apologize properly another day, but right now, I need your help.’
‘Can’t help you, I’m at the party. Why aren’t you here? You’ll miss the free prosecco.’
‘I’m on my way, save me a glass. And bring it to the dressing room. I’ll meet you there.’
‘I’m not your Stanford.’
‘You’re right, you’re not. You’re my Petroc.’
And Petroc is the only one who can handle this.
* * *
Why don’t I like relying on people? It makes me nervous, like stepping out onto a thin fraying rope above a canyon. A rope that isn’t interested in staying taut or bearing my weight. A rope that wants to snap. I just assume it will let me fall. Like Rose and Cousin Jack did, always too busy to pick us up, not inclined to change their schedule to accommodate us, leaving us to get by on our own. I got used to the idea that what I wanted didn’t matter, that it was better to make sure I accommodated everyone else rather than run the risk of hoping someone might indulge me. It changed, a little, when Robbie came along, because he taught me that there would always be someone at, and on, my side. But it was a hard lesson to learn, and early on in our relationship, I found myself staggered when, on a late work night, he suggested he come out to meet me and escort me home. Astounded, then anxious, because I assumed he wouldn’t turn up, and then there would be an added awkwardness to my solo journey as I worked out how to never mention it again; avoid any friction by referencing his unreliability. But when I emerged from the church hall in Deptford where we’d been recording a choir rehearsal, there he was, clicking his heels together, reporting for duty. My breath caught as if I’d just heard the sweetest, most exquisite a cappella chord progression. Here was my rock, a sturdy foundation stone unmoved by the elements, that I could lean on, build my life around.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ I stuttered, feeling my cheeks flush with the delight of it.
He cupped my face in his hands. ‘I’m your knight in shining armour,’ he murmured, grinning. With him, the kingdom was safe. He’s never stacked the dishwasher in an acceptable way, but he does turn up when it counts. When it matters.
Gradually I learned to rely on Robbie, but found it difficult to widen my circle beyond him and Susie, wary of trusting anyone in case it went wrong again. The habit is hard to break. I am the rope, holding taut so that other people can cross. But it’s time to cut myself some slack.
* * *
Petroc meets me in the dressing room as arranged, holding two glasses of fizz and glowering like he’s changed a thousand nappies. Lafayette, on the floor beside him, is yapping madly – he’s caught sight of Bigwig, whose head is emerging from my bag, whiskers twitching.
Handing me my glass, Petroc is briefly distracted from his sulk. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘It’s a rabbit.’
‘What’s it doing in your bag?’
‘Writing its memoir. Listen, I—’
‘And another thing, I’m not the only one you need to apologize to. I’ve just been talking to Caroline, who’s in floods because you told her she’s a shitty producer—’
‘She is a shitty producer.’
He wags a finger. ‘Well, it’s your job as her exec to make her a better one, not bawl her out like that.’
I sigh. ‘She’s been winding me up for a while.’
‘That’s your problem, you put things off and then have to go from doughnuts straight to dressing-downs. If you’d dealt with it sooner then you wouldn’t be in this mess.’
‘That’s the story of my life.’
‘Why have you got a rabbit in your bag? Is it some sort of magic trick?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain it. I have to explain something else, and I need you to listen carefully, and do as I say.’
‘Oh, go on then.’
This bit is one of the hardest things I’ve done so far today. Like the delegation, it’s against my nature to go here, to say these words out loud. The only person I’ve ever told is Susie, and I was really drunk then, as opposed to the mild intoxication I’m currently feeling, which may or may not be booze-related. And Robbie, whose reaction was so potent that it frightened me, made me want to put the lid back on all of it. It’s been fastened down tight for so long, it’s not easy to prise the box open again.
As I tell him what I need, and why, Petroc’s expression changes, conveying a series of emotions as his dog grumbles and prances. When I finish, he hugs me briskly, sending Lafayette into a demented frenzy.
‘Are you sure?’
I nod.
‘It might not work.’
I nod again. ‘But I have to try.’
‘You’re very brave. Or crazy.’
‘Or I have a head injury and am perimenopausal. Do you think you can do it?’
‘Of course. Quick turnaround though.’
‘Give it your best shot.’
‘Will do. Oh, and Clover?’
Preparing to leave, I turn to him enquiringly.
‘It’s my turn to apologize. I’m sorry I was so cross with you. I know you were only trying to stick up for me. I’ve just been really stressed lately and didn’t know how to react.’
