It has been an unbelievably manic evening. Over five hours I went from stressed to sad to happy to stressed again. I’m exhausted emotionally and I probably shouldn’t be blogging, but it’s all swirling in my head. I need to get it out.
HarryPotter texted me around 4pm and said he was leaving work early to come to Dundee. I considered texting him back and telling him that he wouldn’t be needed. I even typed the text, but hovered over sending it for so long that I figured he’d probably already left and it would be mean to make him turn back. So I deleted it.
He was waiting for me outside my flat when I got home, and the tension of last weekend in Glasgow was nothing compared to this. We met each other with a nod and walked up the stairs in silence. I wanted to say ‘thank you’, but it didn’t seem to come out my mouth. He obviously wanted to say something as well, but couldn’t manage it either.
He threw down his bag in the empty lounge and suggested he pop to the shops to get some food, unless I already had some in the house. I said that I did have some things, as Fife always did the shopping and the gang didn’t pack that stuff up. We had a bit of a rummage and found some fish fingers and oven chips.
We moved around the kitchen in silence, he opened the fridge, found two beers and offered me one. Evidently he didn’t know about my ‘predicament’ I thought. I had to say something. ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you Fife and I were splitting up.’
‘That’s alright,’ he said. ‘You obviously didn’t think it was any of my business.’
I know what he was thinking. He was probably thinking, If you’ve broken up with Fife, then there’s no excuse for not being with me. Except that you don’t have the same feelings for me as I do for you.
If he was indeed thinking this, it certainly wasn’t true.
‘That’s not it at all,’ I argued. I put my beer back in the fridge and poured myself a diet coke. ‘It’s just a messy break-up, obviously. And I didn’t want to drag you into the middle of it. I had no idea that [M] rung you until he told me. And I didn’t mean to drag them into it for that matter.’
‘I know this wasn’t your idea, but if you need me here, I wish you would have said. Your mates shouldn’t be the ones to ring me,’ he said as he walked into the lounge.
As I followed him into the lounge I said, ‘I thought I could deal with on my own.’ And I added that, ‘After our talk on Saturday night, I just needed to process everything.’
We sat on the floor, and he looked at the glass of diet coke in my hand, then he said, ‘If you’re not drinking, then it’s true.’
He knew. Fuck. He knew. How long had he known? It was a relief, wasn’t it? I could finally talk to him about it. I could finally talk to my best friend about the most confusing, horrible thing to ever happened to me. The tears were starting, I could feel them. It would have been the first time since sobbing in Posh’s bathroom that I would have cried over this. I’d wanted to cry on his shoulder about this whole sorted mess the entire time, but I was too afraid to tell him. If I told him, I’d have to say it outlout and I hadn’t been ready for that. But, maybe, since HP already knew, I was ready to talk about it.
I wiped away the first couple of tears, opened my mouth to speak, and there was a knock on the door. I didn’t have to answer it to know who it was. Fuck, it was Fife.
When I opened the door, the pushed through and barged into the flat. HarryPotter came from the lounge, and Fife said, ‘Moving on quite quickly aren’t we?’
‘I’m just here to help, pal. No need to get like that,’ HP said. Then he added, ‘And from what I gather, she needs someone around, because you don’t seem to know the meaning of “boundaries”.’
Fife puffed up, ‘Oh really? It seems, Pal, it wasn’t so long ago you spouted your drunken feelings for my girlfriend, in my own house, and now you’re here just as a friend? I think you’re the one who has problems with boundaries.’
HP stood tall and got right up into Fife’s face, ‘At least I don’t lie to her.’
Someone was about to throw a punch, and I really couldn’t deal with that. I pulled them apart by standing between them. I asked HP to go out and get us some bread for dinner, I was going to talk to Fife, and I wanted to do it alone. Then I said to Fife, ‘And this will be the last time I ever speak to you.’
HarryPotter left eyeing Fife as he walked out the door.
Fife and I went and sat down on the floor in the lounge, and I said, ‘In fairness, we haven’t really talked about this. Not properly.’
He started by making an excuse for why he lied, but I interrupted, ‘If you’re just here to try and explain away what you did, I don’t want to hear it.’
He became quiet, because I guess there was nothing else for him to say. No matter what he said, he couldn’t undo this by talking. The only thing left was for me to talk. I told him I was not only hurt but scared. I hate him for making me go through this, and I would ALWAYS hate him. No matter how much time passed, I would never feel anything but hate towards him. His actions were inexcusable.
Fife said he understood, he just wished he could change things. I said he couldn’t. He then asked some practical questions. Had I taken a pregnancy test? I said ‘no’. He then asked further questions. What if I was? Would I keep it? Would he have access to his child? My answers were honest, ‘I don’t know’. I told him that I would figure it out as I went, and I did not want his help in any way.
We were facing each other, and he picked up my hand. He held it tight and said only one thing, ‘Please.’ Tears were streaming down my face, and his eyes were red. Looking at him I hated him so much, not necessarily because of what he did, but he has ruined my wonderful memories of him. I thought he was a kind, sensitive caring man. I thought he was lovely, smart and funny. I thought he was compassionate, strong and sexy. Maybe he still is, but I’ll never ever see that man again. I was grieving for a man I once knew.
‘This will be the last time we see each other,’ I said. ‘Do not come back here. If I decide to keep you in my life for any reason, we will communicate through someone else. I want you to keep your distance as much as possible. You have to understand that. I will not change my mind.’
I could barely speak because of my tears. This was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Why couldn’t he have left when I was enraged? It would have been so much easier if he had disappeared after the first time I tried to throw him out. Why did he have to keep coming back?
I stood up and so did he. He reached out to hug me and I let him. His arms around me, holding me tight. It reminded me of when I loved him. It reminded me of when I thought he was a good person. It reminded me of what he could be. For a second, I almost reconsidered, but then fate intervened. My phone rang.
It was PoshMum.
I sniffed back the tears and answered the phone. I asked her to hold for one moment, and I told Fife quietly, ‘I really do have to take this.’ I walked out the lounge and opened the door. He finally left my flat. Forever.
‘I’ve talked to some financers, and I’ve passed on [Conspiracy]’s manuscript as well. We’ve also got agreement from the Board. [Title of Conspiracy’s blog/book] has been given the greenlight,’ she said.
I thought I was going to drop the phone. I wanted to scream, to shout, to run around the flat in crying tears of happiness. But that would be unprofessional. I had just gone from one of the most horribly emotional moments in my life to one of the best, all in a matter of seconds. I had tears rolling down my face, but I didn’t make a sound.
I collected myself and finally said, ‘That’s wonderful news.’
‘You want to scream don’t you?’ she said. Despite being a big film producer, she’s a mother first. And mothers always know these sorts of things.
‘Yes, I do,’ I said.
She said to go ahead, so I put my hand over the phone and let out the biggest scream while jumping up and down. I have never felt a release like that before. I wasn’t just screaming about the film deal, I was also letting out all that I had built up.
I got back on the phone and said, ‘Thank you.’
She said that RRManager would be in touch to set up a time to talk start negotiations. Remembering that PoshMum doesn’t like to do deals over the phone, I realised that I might have to fly back to theUS– again – but luckily PoshMum said that she’s out of the discussions at this point. She’s told all concerned parties on her end what she wants out of the deal and how much she’s willing to pay, RRManager will do the rest, and it can be done over Skype and email.
I thanked her again, and right before she hung up, she said, ‘I look forward to working with you in the future.’
It hadn’t dawned on me that I would be working with film people. I thought we’d dothe deal and that would be that, but maybe I’ll get to be on set or something – if it gets made. I have to keep reminding myself that even if they buy the rights it may take years to come to fruition, if ever. But still. Yippieeeeee.
I was on the phone telling Loraine the good news when HP came back. Loraine said we should wait until we’ve negotiated a deal to tell Conspiracy. Usually the author would be privy to the negotiations along the way, but we were worried that this may spook Conspiracy, so it would be best to leave him out of it until it was time to sign the papers. Plus, by this point I’ve got a pretty good idea of what Conspiracy wants.
I told HP the good news, and he ran over and hugged me. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘I think this may officially make you an agent.’
He said he would put the tea on. ‘How about fish finger and chip sandwiches to celebrate,’ he said.
I said I thought that would be grand, and he handed me the shopping. Inside was a loaf of white bread and a pregnancy test. For a moment, a brief moment, I had forgotten. Of all people to remind me. I was quite angry he’d taken it upon himself to buy it. I really didn’t think it was his place to do so, so I marched into the kitchen, test in hand.
I opened my mouth to give him a right bollocking, but that’s not what came out. Instead, I asked, ‘How’d you find out?’
‘After [M] called I went back and read your blog,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t read it since you started seeing Pete, and I felt really uncomfortable doing so. But I know about your “situation” as you keep calling it.’
Then it dawned on me. HP asked that I don’t write about him in the blog, and I have been. I’ve been writing about everything. I am officially the world’s biggest hypocrite. I was so angry with Fife for writing about me in his book, and I’ve been doing the exact same thing. And I can’t stop. I’m doing it just now. What’s wrong with me?
‘Are you mad that I’ve written about you in the blog,’ I asked.
He said, ‘You need to sort this out now’, and he pointed to the pregnancy test. ‘We’ll deal with that later.’
I could tell. He was mad. I have fucked up. I have fucked up absolutely everything in my life.
Fuck. I’m going to stop writing about HarryPotter. Starting right now.