‘You’d better not.’
‘I suppose,’ I said, trying to get my thoughts straight. ‘I’d like to know where I’m going before I get there. With us, it’s like a magic-carpet ride and it’s fantastic, a rush, but we get to places before I realise what or where they are. Does that make sense?’
‘You’re overwhelmed?’
‘It’s not that surprising, is it?’
‘No.’ He pulled into the parking space outside my building. ‘You didn’t want your parents to know about me.’
‘I wanted it to be a mutual decision, Jasper. I don’t want our life outside the bedroom to be the same as it is inside. I don’t want you taking charge of me.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Things aren’t the way I thought they were. Right.’
‘Don’t be like this. Come inside. Let’s talk.’
‘You’ve got an article to write. And I’ve got calls to make. Go on. I don’t want you accusing me of ruining your career.’
‘Jasper …’
‘I’ll see you later.’
Chapter Seven
Of course, I stood no chance of writing this article after all that.
I sat at the computer, staring into the blank white space, wrote a heading, deleted it, wrote another, deleted it … Opened my web browser. Typed ‘Jasper Jay’.
I’d read the Wikipedia entry before, a ton of times, while we were apart. It didn’t say anything about his early life apart from his date of birth. The entry started with his acceptance into RADA and did little more than list the things he’d worked on. Under ‘Personal Life’ it said: ‘Jay has been linked with a number of high-profile actresses but he is currently single.’
I’d read the first couple of pages of results – reviews and interviews – but I could never find anything in which Jasper talked about anything other than his work. One article described him as ‘obsessively private’ while another speculated about whether his charm was native or calculated. ‘Jasper Jay is a hard man to pin down,’ said another.
‘You got that right,’ I muttered to myself, clicking to the previously unexplored terrain of page three.
There was an ancient interview, scanned in from a TV magazine of the time, from his days in Open Heart Surgery. The attached photograph made me coo; he was adorably bright-eyed and boyish and he looked, I don’t know, innocent – almost a different person.
I cast my eye down the column, squinting at the tiny text. He was talking about his character’s challenges in the latest episodes, but there was a bit near the end that made me open my narrowed eyes wide.
When asked if he’d ever consider working in the medical profession for real, he said: ‘Oh, I did, when I was at school. I wanted to discover the cure for cancer after it took someone very close to me. But acting was another way of dealing with that – and one I turned out to be better at. It’s an opportunity to leave your worries and problems behind sometimes.’
Gazing at the boy-Jasper, I wondered if his father had died of cancer while he was still at school. And if so, why hadn’t he told me? Such a tragedy was bound to have affected him deeply.
This wouldn’t do. I wasn’t going to get a word of this article written until I’d spoken to Jasper.
I switched off the computer, raced downstairs
and, too het up to think of even putting on a coat, ran through the rain to where my battered old Corsa was parked.
I ran through the rain again to Jasper’s door, hoping against hope that he hadn’t gone out. I should have called him first, really, but I didn’t want a row on the phone. I had to see him, in the flesh, so I could watch his expressions and his body language.
When he answered the door he was barefoot and he looked half-asleep, his eyes heavy-lidded and a little red-rimmed.
‘Oh, did I wake you?’ I said, a tad discombobulated by his appearance. He looked as if he’d been crying or something.
‘You’ve got an article to write,’ he said dully.
‘I can’t concentrate. Please, can we talk?’
He rubbed at his eyes for a few seconds then gestured me in.