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“It will be my first piece performed in a theatre since Thirteen, so I’m pretty excited about it.”
“When did you write it?”
“Eleven months ago. It’s just a scene. I wrote it at the Court during an invite-only group session. I forgot all about it until they called three weeks ago. They’re performing ten different scenes next month, all from emerging playwrights.”
“Can I come?”
“I’ll be lucky if I can grab a seat. It’s a fundraising gala, so every penny goes towards new works and writers’ schemes. Anyway, you’re not a theatre fan!”
“But I’d like to see your work. I bet the after-party will be epic.”
Alex shook her head as they walked under London Bridge. “I won’t stick around. I got an email this morning listing all the actors participating…”
Tarquin raised an eyebrow. “Mark?”
“His girlfriend. At least she’s not in my scene.”
“She should be so lucky.” He smiled. “Speaking of lucky…Thirteen sounds incredible. You should send it to Broadway.”
“Maybe.”
“I know a woman. Want her details?”
“Do all your hookups owe you favours? Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Alex! She’s a lesbian in her late fifties. I helped her get an apartment, not an orgasm. Our interaction was professional, like my dealings with the producer of Sir Ian’s play.” He threw his arm in the air. “Look, despite the over-sexualized banter you witnessed at Bespoke, I’m really not a douche. I didn’t spend the last three years in the Big Apple keeping Durex in business. I was there to work. Budgie’s always been more of a dad to me than my own father, and there was no way I was going to blow it.
“And for the record, I dated three women—three—the entire time I was in New York. One was my flatmate. The other two were model/actresses who did my head in. Actually, they reminded me of my mother.”
“Eww.”
“Not in that way. My mum was a model, an actress.”
“Wait a minute…” Alex’s eyes climbed up the Shard, looming behind London Bridge Station. “Balfour…Balfour…Kiki Balfour? Kiki Balfour is your mum? Wasn’t she in a sci-fi series, mid-nineties?”
“Yep. Equinox Ten. Not exactly Doctor Who level, but yeah…how do you know that? You’re too young—and American.”
“Dad’s a sci-fi freak. We used to binge-watch British shows on PBS when I was a kid. Your mum’s name stuck in my head because Joan’s—my grandmother’s—cat was called Kiki, after KiKi Dee, the singer?”
“God. Don’t go breaking my heart…”
She laughed. Musical cheese! Tarquin knows KiKi Dee!
“My mother didn’t take that song to heart. Her first love was acting, and Dad was way down the list. My brothers and I didn’t fare much better.”
“How many brothers?” asked Alex.
“Just two. You?”
“Sister and brother. Both older.”
“I’m youngest, too. Before I was born, Dad and my uncle sold their share of the family’s oil company. They split over eighty million quid. He used his portion to start Sports Now, the bargain sports apparel chain?”
“I bought my running shoes there.”
“Well, thanks for supporting my cold, dysfunctional family.” He grinned and guided Alex to the entrance of Hay’s Galleria, a converted riverside wharf that boasted shops and restaurants.
“My mother was pissed Dad didn’t pour that money into a TV production company she wanted to bankroll. They fought a lot. She took off several times, shacking up with various male co-stars. Her leaving, her ego…the constant phoniness of her profession—it left me with a perpetual showbiz hate-on. Mum always chose her job over us. I did everything I could to grab her attention: I excelled at sports, deliberately crashed my skateboard a few times.” He glanced at Alex. “I remember being seven, maybe eight, and thinking: if I hurt myself badly enough, Mum will have to love me. Stupid, eh?”
Alex’s gaze travelled along the Galleria’s vaulted glass and steel ceiling. “It’s not stupid. I know exactly how that feels.”
“Do you? Did your mother ever change?”
“She showed a shred of interest when Thirteen got picked up, but she never flew over to see me. We haven’t been face to face since I left Florida three years ago, which is fine by me. Mark always wanted us to get along. We argued about it. He’s close to his mum and never understood why I stopped trying with mine. I think there’s only so much rejection you can take.”
“Exactly. Einstein’s definition of insanity sums it up nicely, don’t you think?”
“Totally.”
“I think my mum loved her TV kids more than she ever loved us. I hated them, precocious stage-school shits.”
Spotting Tower Bridge, Alex pulled out her phone for a photo. “Crap, it’s almost three. I need to get back for Lucy.”
Tarquin smiled. “My Millennium Falcon awaits!”
