known.”
Helena pushed herself up from the leather chair, turning her
back on him to look out of the window, noting that even as the light was
fading, a few photographers still waited outside. She spun around to face her
brother. “That’s always your excuse. You’re never here, not for anyone,” she
snapped, her voice hoarse and scratchy as the frustration she’d been holding
back finally burst out. She watched his face tighten.
“I said I was sorry.” He pushed the words out through gritted
teeth.
“You know who you sound like? Mother. She was always sorry
too.” Helena watched Alex, saw the way his face paled even under his LA tan and
for a moment she wished she could take the words back, knowing that she had
struck too close but then she shrugged. “I’m going downstairs,” she said
walking past him.
Talia
stuffed another exquisite macaroon into her mouth and allowed the rush of sugar
to revive her. She looked around the room as a waiter moved discreetly through
the thinning group of mourners with a tray of sweet delicacies.
“You OK?” Talia turned at Helena’s words.
“I should be asking you that,” she replied. Behind her friend
she saw Alex enter the room, a tight expression on his face as he watched her
and Helena. “Is he alright?” Talia asked nodding towards Alex. Helena shrugged
and turned back to Talia just as a loud and unmistakeable voice rang out.
“These canapés are to die for.”
Talia spun round, her mouth falling open as she spotted
Tamara in a body con Herve Leger dress, laughing as she flaunted her lush
curves in the face of a notable and very married theatre director.
“What is she doing here?” Talia hissed the words in quiet
fury, turning to Helena who shrugged.
“Maybe Alex asked her,” Helena replied. Talia’s eyes drifted
to Alex but the surprise she saw in his face, made her doubt that he had
extended an invitation to Tamara. She watched him push forward towards her,
greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. Talia felt rage boil up in her as the
events of her last day at work flooded back. With a start of mortification she
realised that a tear had welled up and fallen down her cheek. Helena stared at
her and then linked arms with her, manoeuvring her out of the room.
“We’re going upstairs and you’re going to tell me exactly
what’s going on.”
Talia
lay on the flowery bedspread of Helena’s childhood room. Her shoes were
discarded on the floor and Helena was sprawled across from the bed in a rocking
chair, with her feet crossed under her. On the walls, all around them were
photographs – black and white ones, colour ones and even a few Polaroids,
testament to the teen and University years when Helena had rarely been seen
without her camera, always snapping off pictures of everything.
“I never liked Tamara.”
Talia grimaced her attention drawn away from the photos on
the walls. “What are you going to do? You’ve got to sue, this is unfair
dismissal,” Helena continued and Talia groaned at her friend’s words.
“Helena, you know better than that. I sue and I’ll never work
again.”
“But they used you. Framed you.”
“And I have to deal with it. These things happen all the time
in TV, it’s a nest of vipers.” Quietly Helena nodded, she knew better than to
try to talk Talia out of a decision when she’d made her mind up.
Talia sat up in the bed, once again her attention drawn to
Helena’s photographs on the wall.
“You’ve not taken any pictures in ages,” she said. Helena
shrugged.
“No time, with work and everything,” Helena replied not
hiding the regret in her voice. “Gramps was always telling me I needed to make
more time for the things I love…” They were both silent for a moment before
Talia spoke again.
“Don’t you need to be downstairs?” Helena shook her head.
“Let Alex deal with things for once.” At this they both
giggled. “Or better yet,” Helena continued, “my mother can make
Helena pushed herself up from the leather chair, turning her
back on him to look out of the window, noting that even as the light was
fading, a few photographers still waited outside. She spun around to face her
brother. “That’s always your excuse. You’re never here, not for anyone,” she
snapped, her voice hoarse and scratchy as the frustration she’d been holding
back finally burst out. She watched his face tighten.
“I said I was sorry.” He pushed the words out through gritted
teeth.
“You know who you sound like? Mother. She was always sorry
too.” Helena watched Alex, saw the way his face paled even under his LA tan and
for a moment she wished she could take the words back, knowing that she had
struck too close but then she shrugged. “I’m going downstairs,” she said
walking past him.
Talia
stuffed another exquisite macaroon into her mouth and allowed the rush of sugar
to revive her. She looked around the room as a waiter moved discreetly through
the thinning group of mourners with a tray of sweet delicacies.
“You OK?” Talia turned at Helena’s words.
“I should be asking you that,” she replied. Behind her friend
she saw Alex enter the room, a tight expression on his face as he watched her
and Helena. “Is he alright?” Talia asked nodding towards Alex. Helena shrugged
and turned back to Talia just as a loud and unmistakeable voice rang out.
“These canapés are to die for.”
Talia spun round, her mouth falling open as she spotted
Tamara in a body con Herve Leger dress, laughing as she flaunted her lush
curves in the face of a notable and very married theatre director.
“What is she doing here?” Talia hissed the words in quiet
fury, turning to Helena who shrugged.
“Maybe Alex asked her,” Helena replied. Talia’s eyes drifted
to Alex but the surprise she saw in his face, made her doubt that he had
extended an invitation to Tamara. She watched him push forward towards her,
greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. Talia felt rage boil up in her as the
events of her last day at work flooded back. With a start of mortification she
realised that a tear had welled up and fallen down her cheek. Helena stared at
her and then linked arms with her, manoeuvring her out of the room.
“We’re going upstairs and you’re going to tell me exactly
what’s going on.”
Talia
lay on the flowery bedspread of Helena’s childhood room. Her shoes were
discarded on the floor and Helena was sprawled across from the bed in a rocking
chair, with her feet crossed under her. On the walls, all around them were
photographs – black and white ones, colour ones and even a few Polaroids,
testament to the teen and University years when Helena had rarely been seen
without her camera, always snapping off pictures of everything.
“I never liked Tamara.”
Talia grimaced her attention drawn away from the photos on
the walls. “What are you going to do? You’ve got to sue, this is unfair
dismissal,” Helena continued and Talia groaned at her friend’s words.
“Helena, you know better than that. I sue and I’ll never work
again.”
“But they used you. Framed you.”
“And I have to deal with it. These things happen all the time
in TV, it’s a nest of vipers.” Quietly Helena nodded, she knew better than to
try to talk Talia out of a decision when she’d made her mind up.
Talia sat up in the bed, once again her attention drawn to
Helena’s photographs on the wall.
“You’ve not taken any pictures in ages,” she said. Helena
shrugged.
“No time, with work and everything,” Helena replied not
hiding the regret in her voice. “Gramps was always telling me I needed to make
more time for the things I love…” They were both silent for a moment before
Talia spoke again.
“Don’t you need to be downstairs?” Helena shook her head.
“Let Alex deal with things for once.” At this they both
giggled. “Or better yet,” Helena continued, “my mother can make
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