AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And a fine woman in my bed.
We reach the shady undergrowth, and Max begins to scan the woodland floor. “Look for these yellow ones,” he says, cutting a sunset-hued trumpet from the mulchy ground to show me. It has ruffled edges, and a bright yellow tone. “There are a couple of patches nearby I’ve had my eye on,” he adds excitedly. “They should be nice and big with the rain.”
“Got it.”
I take out the penknife he gave me, and join Max crouching in the muck, cutting mushrooms to add to his bag. It’s a long way from ordering Deliveroo to my spotless flat in London, that’s for sure, but there’s something soothing about the hunt: Keeping my eyes peeled for the glimpse of yellow in the shades of brown and green.
“So how did you and Hugo meet, anyway?” I ask, as we work. I don’t believe for a second that I can talk him around, but I’m still curious what triggered this eighty-million dollar love bomb. “Vegas, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. I was there for a mate’s birthday,” Max explains. “The lads had a whole holiday planned, L.A., Palm Springs, all the sights… So of course, I wind up locking eyes with that posh bastard on our last night in Vegas, and wind up missing the rest of the trip. Still haven’t seen the Grand Canyon,” he adds cheerfully.
“Plans change,” I agree, thinking of how a week ago, I thought I had things all figured out. Then I accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom by mistake. And now…?
Well, now I’m up to my ankles in rich Scottish mud, feeling better than I have in years.
“Anyway, we spent the weekend together, sneaking around, but, well… All good things come to an end.” Max continues. “Hugo had some show to film, and he made it clear, he wasn’t about to wreck his heartthrob image any time soon. We said our goodbyes, and I reckoned that was it for us, until he shows up on my doorstep out of nowhere Sunday afternoon. Thought I was on some reality show,” Max adds, straightening up with a grin. “Kept looking for the cameras, but it turns out, he wasn’t having me on. Good thing too. All that fame and tabloid nonsense… It’s not for me.”
“Is that why he’s quitting acting?” I venture, as we keep strolling. “You don’t want the attention that would come from being together?”
“Hugo says it’s not worth the hassle. He’s already spent years dealing with reporters and gossip,” Max gives a shrug. “You can’t blame the man for wanting a break.”
“A break, aye. But giving up his whole career? If coming out is what you’re worried about—”
Max snorts, interrupting me. “I’ve been out since I was old enough to have a poster of Daniel Craig up on my bedroom wall. But I’m not famous, am I? I don’t have fans mobbing me for a selfie, or going into meltdown if someone posts I’m dating a new bird. I mean, can you imagine what they’d say, if he strolled up to a premiere with me on his arm?”
“Alright, the press would have a field day,” I agree. “But for what, a week or two? Then they’d move on to the next big story, and you two would be free to live your lives. Wouldn’t that be worth it, if it meant Hugo got to keep the career he loves?”
Max looks conflicted. “You think I haven’t told him that? I’d take the hit. But it’s not up to me. If Hugo says he wants out, then it’s his call. I have to respect that—and so do you,” he adds with a pointed look.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Aye, I hear you loud and clear. I just hope Hugo doesn’t regret it, that’s all. Giving up something he loves. I don’t know much about the movie business, but the man has talent.”
That conflicted look returns. Max sighs. “Yeah, I know. I went and downloaded all his stuff, after Vegas. Couldn’t believe it, the way he transforms into someone else. It’s why I told him to go back to you lot and finish this movie. It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he adds, gesturing around at the sunlit woods. “I’ll still be here, baking meat pasties, when he’s done.”
“But he refused?” I ask.
Max nods. “Said there was no point putting it off. As long as he’s got movies coming out, as long as he has to do the promo and press, then they’d be coming for me, too. No movies, no paparazzi? No more problems.”
I can see where Hugo’s coming from. He thinks he’s protecting Max by dropping out of public view. After all, if he’s not swanning about some premiere, or posing for the cover of a magazine, people will forget him soon enough, and move onto the next handsome bastard.
But I know a thing or two about sacrificing your passion for the people you love. And that itch never goes away. It just stays there, twisting deeper into your chest, turning that sacrifice into something like bitter regret.
“Look, I’m not saying this to try and talk anyone around,” I start, as Max crouches over another patch of mushrooms. “Honestly, I admire Hugo, for chasing after love. God knows, I should have done the same thing, back in the day, but unlike him, I didn’t have the guts.” I think of the last decade with a pang of wistful regret. All that time with Jolene, I could have spent loving her. All the years we’ll never get back.
“But let me give you a word of advice,” I continue. “Nae, a warning. Sacrificing your talent and passion is all well and good. I’ve done it myself, I put my dreams aside to support my family, and I wouldn’t take it back, even if I had the chance. But those dreams don’t die,” I tell him bluntly. “They haunt you, wondering what might have been. Who you would have become if you’d chosen different. I love my siblings, I do. And I worked hard, and struggled, so they wouldn’t have to. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent them for it, just a little. Watching them run around, following every whim that crosses their mind, all becauseIgive up that chance of freedom? There are times it eats away at me.” I give a sharp shrug. “It’s not pretty, but it’s true.”
“What are you saying?” Max asks quietly, looking stricken. “That Hugo’s going to wind up resenting me if he quits acting?”
Fuck. I realize I’m spilling my guts here over the mushroom patch. “No, it’s not that. I’m blathering about my own shit, that’s all. I should save it for therapy,” I add with a rueful grin. Clearly, being around Jolene again is bringing up old wounds; the thought of what might have been.
I toss another few mushrooms in the full bag, then stretch. “Do we have enough for dinner, you reckon, or do you want to look some more?”
Max yanks the bag closed. “We’re good,” he says, hoisting it over his shoulder. “We should get back now.”
Max issilent on the walk back to the cottage, and I hope I haven’t stuck my foot in things, prattling on about the past. I can’t help it, the past few days have been a whirlwind, and not just because of Jolene.
She’s making me think about everything. The life I’m leading, and what I’m still doing, putting on that suit and watching the profit margins day in, day out. Because she’s right: The kids are grown, and dad’s back to normal again. If he ever was normal in the first place, at least. Hell, Eddie’s got wee ones of his own now. They don’t need me to hold it together or keep the bills paid. I could quit my job, and finish art school, the way I always planned. I’ve got enough put aside to see me out a fair few years, and even if my art doesn’t pay, I could consult; freelance a few projects from time to time if things got rough.
I could have done it years ago. But something always held me back. Picking up that paintbrush again feels like opening a door to a past life—with a whole lot of messy emotion waiting for me on the other side. Grief over my mother, regret and guilt over losing Jolene… Sure, I’ve dabbled with a painting or print from time to time, but it’s always been one step removed. A temporary distraction, not staring headlong into the chaos.
