The Director's Cut (24 page)

I feel my heart turn to ice. My memories of dancing are hazy. But I remember the audition clear enough.

“There’s no music,” I hedge.

I feel
James smile into my hair. “They’ll start it, as soon as you get on the floor. That’s what they did for all the other dancers tonight.”

“I don’t know,” I reply. Something in me is stirring. But I don’t know if I’m brave enough to revisit that place.

“Do you remember what I said, back at the hotel?” asks James. “I want you to share everything with me. Every little bit. That includes the sadness.”

The sadness
. The way he says it makes it sound so real.

I feel myself waver.

I pull away from him, so I can look into his eyes. “If I do this for you,” I say, “will that be the end of it? No more talking about my childhood?”

James gives a faint smile.

“If that’s what you decide.”

“But you’re hoping I’ll change my mind? Afterwards?”

“I am hoping that, yes,” he admits.

“You’re wrong,” I say. “I won’t change my mind.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

Stubbornly, I
rise from the little table, flashing him a defiant look.

Fine
, Mr Berkeley. If that’s what you want.

I assess my outfit. My skirt is not quite long enough, but it will do. I don’t have the right shoes. But I always preferred to dance bare foot anyway. Silently, I lever my footwear off.

“You really want me to do this?” I demand, trying for a last minute reprieve.

James nods. “I really want you to do this.” His eyes are fixed on mine.

With my heart pounding, I turn and approach the floor.

The barman catches my approach and raises his eyebrows as a question. I nod to him.

Start the music.

And then the first strains start.
The music sounds completely different, now I’m on the dance floor.

It’s so real.
Like a heartbeat thudding through me.

I
haven’t felt this in so long.

Automatically, my body reacts to the music. I stiffen and arch my back.

Memories are flashing. The audition. The stern faces.

I let my arms stretch upwards, winding my wrists slowly as they ascend. And as they reach their graceful apex, I strike my foot strongly on the ground.

With the movement, the dance comes flooding back. And I feel my face load with sadness.

How could I ever feel this much grief?

The memories of that sadness are so acute, that they momentarily take my breath away. But my body turns, automatically, in the rhythm of the dance. My wrists, flex and turn fluidly. My hips twists fast, and then stop. My bare feet stamp out the rhythm.

This is what it was like. Your body helped your mind forget.

The sudden realisation seems to root me deeper in the music. How could I have forgotten this? This close attention to the minute movements of every part of me. Pain was lodged in every movement. No wonder my Spanish dancing was so accomplished. The concentration helped me blot out what was happening in my life.

Papa
.

I feel a physical surge, as though a part of me is rushing open, flooding me with grief.

My feet whirl, and the moving air catches my face. My cheeks are wet with tears, but I hardly notice.

I let my soul sink into the music and the sad strains threaten to overtake me entirely.

I am falling, but my body holds rigid as I hold the next posture.

Like a stone statue.
Stone doesn’t feel anything.

The sentences from my childhood take me by surprise. Did I say those words to myself? Did my mother?

Then my torso turns again, and my hand scoops the hem of my skirt into a perfect figure of eight.

A
nother memory rears up. I try and fight it, but this time I can’t.

It feels like I’m falling… falling…

I suddenly realise that I’m sobbing. And then James is at my side.

“Issy.” He takes me into his arms, and I sink into him.

“James. I…”

“It’s alright
, Issy. Shhh. You don’t have to say anything. It’s alright.”

I look into his face. There are tears in his eyes.

“Issy,” he whispers, “I had no idea you were hiding so much.”

James looks so sad.

“You’re coming back to the hotel with me, right now,” he says. “And you’re going to tell me everything.”

Chapter 29

By the time we’ve reached James’s hotel room, I’ve mastered some of my emotions. But I still feel like a glass which has been shattered.

James leads me gently into the room and seats me on the bed.

“I knew you had sadness in you,” he says. “I didn’t know how much.”

He pauses for a moment.

“You need to tell me, Issy,” he says. “You need to tell me what happened to you.”

He takes my hands and looks into my eyes.

“What you’re carrying could overwhelm you,” he says. “You need to talk about it. Believe me. I know.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” I feel lost, drifting, but some stubbornness remains.

James sighs.

“Tell me about your father.”

Just him saying the words sparks an electric bolt of pain.

I close my eyes, letting it ride out. But when I open my mouth to speak, no words come out.

“You can do this,” says James gently. “You’re brave, Issy.”

I am. I am brave.

I swallow. “My father,” I begin. “I was eight when he died.”

I take a long, ragged breath, trying to keep my words straight.

“He died in a car accident. The police came, to tell us. And the first thing I felt, was anger.” The last words come out as a distraught whisper, and tears fill my eyes, threatening to overwhelm me.

James holds my hand and says nothing. I sit silently, letting the warmth of his skin soothe me.

“I was so angry with him,” I breathe. “I know it was wrong. But that was all I could feel. No grief. Nothing. I blamed my father. I thought he could have done something, to prevent the accident. He should have known, not to go out that night. I was furious, that he left us.”

I turn to look in his face, expecting to see horror, even disgust. But there is nothing but patience and understanding.

“My mother fell apart,” I say, my voice still wavering and choked. “My father had always taken care of money, and bills. She just couldn’t cope.”

James squeezes my hand tighter.

“We ended up drifting, in and out of communal houses. Places where my mother’s friends were. They were artists, musicians. All struggling, trying to make it, in London. It wasn’t really the right environment for a child.”

I’m feeling stronger now, and my voice comes a little clearer. As I talk, I feel as though I’m exploring my reaction to it all for the first time.

“I think I’d dealt with his death,” I say. “But it was the effect on Mami, that was so hard.” I give James a little quivering smile, and he nods. “She was so grief-struck. And it kind of meant, there wasn’t any room, for me to be unhappy. I had to take on a lot of adult responsibilities, very young.”

I shake my head,
remembering.

“
When it first happened, I was
so
angry.” My eyes open wide at the memory. “I felt like I could have screamed aloud for a month. Then after a few years, living in communes, I don’t know how I felt. Numb, I guess.”

James is nodding his head at this.

“That’s very typical,” he says, “in response to trauma. It’s a sign that you’ve not dealt with the grief and pain.”

I look at him in surp
rise. He sounds like a therapist.

“Believe me,” he adds, “I know.”

Of course he does. James has his own demons.

He sighs and takes both my hands in his.

“Issy,” he says, “I can’t tell you anything to take your feelings away. And take it from someone who knows, it’s better in the end to feel them than block them out.”

He smiles at me. “What I can do is be here for you and listen to you without judgement.”

His green eyes are on mine.

“I love you so much,” he says. “Nothing you could say would ever make me love you less.
”

I let his words sink in, testing them out.

My eyes fill with tears again.

It feels good
to have his acceptance. So much of what I feel about my father seems shameful and wrong. But speaking out loud has helped. James was right about that. It was hard. But it wasn’t nearly so awful, as I feared.

“
I can’t bear that you’ve been carrying this pain around,” says James. “And I’m privileged that you’ve let me in.”

Chapter 30

James carries me to bed and holds me, stroking my hair, until my eyes start to close.

“No wonder you’re so tired,” he murmurs. “It’s been an emotional day for you.”

“I’m not tired,” I blink up at him, warm in his arms.

He laughs softly and continues the slow stroking of my hair.

“I think you are.”

I try to answer, but I’m suddenly slowed with exhaustion, and the words don’t come out. Before I know it, I’m falling into a deep sleep.

I awake to early dawn light, wrapped in James’s arms.
He must have slid off the green satin dress after I fell asleep, as I’m clad in nothing but satin panties.

That’s the second time he’s undressed me, I realise, after an emotional night out.

I wonder, for a moment, if we’ve both slept in. Since James starts so early on set. Then I remember that we’re due to start slightly later this morning. There were some traffic permissions to obtain, so filming has to wait until paperwork is completed at 9am.

I sigh into James’s warm body, inhaling the smell of him.

I feel different this morning. As though I’ve been cleansed. And the dawn light feels wonderful.

I know that I will always carry sadness from my childhood memories. But for the first time, there is a possibility that the numb pain, lodged deep in my heart, could melt a little.

I slip out of James’s arms, careful not to wake him, and pull on one of his T-shirts, which I find draped over a hotel chair. Then I walk over to the window. The Barcelona streets haven’t yet come to life, and I drink in the wonderful sweeping view of the city square outside.

I turn back to where James is still sleeping. And it’s then I notice a stack of documents on a writing desk
at the other side of the room.

I remember James telling me there had been a press report given to him. Could it be with this paperwork?

I can’t help but be curious, and I move over to where the documents lay.

“Issy?” James’s sleepy voice echoes across the bedroom, and I freeze guiltily, halfway towards the desk.

“Come back to bed,” he says.

I pad back over to the bed and slip in beside him.

“Mmmm,” he says, pulling me close and kissing me. “I like how you look in my T-shirt.”

“Thanks,” I giggle, nuzzling into him.

“But I think I’d like you a little better if you were out of it,” he adds, sliding a hand underneath it and stroking the edge of my nipples.

Mmmmm
.
I feel my body leap to life under his touch.

Then his phone beeps, and he frowns.

“Hold on a moment,” he says. “This could be important.”

Something about his tone makes me anxious. The beep from his phone wasn’t like his regular ringtone. Could this be the tone he’s assigned to
his press team?

James slides out of bed and strides out of the room, grabbing a sheet to cover himself.

I feel my stomach lurch. Something must be wrong if he doesn’t want me to hear this phone call.

From the next room of the suite, I hear his voice, deep and urgent.

Another leak. It must be
. I crawl miserably out of bed, wondering what’s going to happen. And for the second time, the pile of documents catch my attention.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look?

Before I can change my mind, I step towards the desk and leaf through the pile.

There’s
all kinds of filming documents here, and pages of script, annotated in red pen. But I can’t see anything which looks like a press report.

Then, halfway through the pile, my fingers close on a
manila folder. It’s stamped with an official-looking logo and has ‘report’ stamped on the front.

This must be it.