Page 26 of The Actress Unscripted

Jett might be jealous of McTavish because he still has feelings for me, or he might just be experiencing an unaccustomed knockto the ego; something I don’t expect happens to him very often; if it’s happened at all.

Either way, though, it doesn’t really matter. I know Jett and I can’t be together. Not after what happened back in L.A. Not ever again.

I put my glass down, ready to tell him all of this, although I’m not sure which bit to start with: the bit about McTavish not actually being my boyfriend, or the bit where Jett and I can never be together.

Wait: what was I just saying?

I take one last gulp of wine, trying desperately to re-focus, but before I can speak, the bar door swings open, and a familiar figure walks in.

It looks like I’ve finally found Mum.

Nine

Iwake up on the sofa in Mum’s cramped little purple-painted living room, with a mouth like a desert, and vague memories of being helped out of the car by Jett and Mum, who’s helpfully left a pint glass filled with water next to the sofa.

Jett.

I struggle into a sitting position, disturbing a large orange cat who’s been sitting on my stomach. It hisses at me in disgust, before turning its tail and stalking out of the room.

I guess Mum’s become a cat person since I was last here.

I get carefully to my feet, trying not to make any sudden movements that might make the pounding in my head any louder as I navigate my way across the room, which is filled to bursting point with glittery ornaments and cushions covered in moons and stars. I know Jett was here last night — a memory which is thankfully too vague for me to be able to make out the details — but he’s definitely not here now; and neither is Mum, which is even more of a blow.

“Had to go to work,” reads the note I find in the kitchen, propped up against the kettle. “Come and find me there if you want to talk. Please feed the cat. Love, Mum.”

I heave a heavy sigh and switch on the kettle. The orange cat jumps onto the worktop and fixes me with its large yellow eyes, before miaowing loudly, as if it’s offended by the very sight of me.

“You’re not the only one, puss,” I tell it, stroking its head sadly. “Not by a long shot.”

I wander around the kitchen, opening various cupboards until I find a tin of cat food, which I empty into the bowl on the kitchen floor. Mum’s place is such a mess that it makes me itchy. If I wasn’t feeling so fragile, I’d stick around and do some tidying for her — cleaning is like therapy to me — but I need to try to speak to her before I start work at The Crown, so I make do with wiping down the counter-tops before quickly washing the dried-up mascara off my cheeks in Mum’s bathroom, and preparing to leave the house.

Which is when I remember I don’t have a car.

Or a phone.

Dammit.

How on earth did people function in the days before these modern conveniences were readily available? Because it’s only been a couple of days, and I’m pretty much ready to give up here.

I don’t have any money for a taxi either, so I poke around the living room until I finally unearth Mum’s landline, hiding under a pile of old gossip magazines, all of which have either me, or Jett, or both of us, on the cover.

From the Highlands to Hollywood, reads the headline on the one at the top of the pile.Is Heather Bay’s Lexie Steele the one who’ll finally tame Jett Carter?

“Er, no, actually,” I mutter, flicking through the pages until I find the article itself. “She’s not, as a matter of fact. Not that he ever really needed to be ‘tamed’.”

But there we are on the center pages, coming out of a restaurant I don’t even remember, hand in hand. And there we are again, at the beach last summer, kissing in the shallows when we thought no one could see us.

God, we were so happy. Or I was, anyway. And I thought Jett was too, at the time, but after our conversation last night — bits and pieces of which have been coming back to me all morning, each one like Macbeth’s dagger in King Malcolm’s heart — I’m starting to doubt my own memories.

Did Jett secretly think I was just using him the whole time? Was he still in love with Violet? Hemusthave been, at least a little bit, right? There’s no way he’d have gotten together with her so soon after our breakup if he hadn’t been.

Would he?

I close the magazine and put it at the bottom of the pile, not wanting to look at my own stupid, hopeful face for one second longer. The one underneath it has a photo of me arriving at Glasgow airport a few weeks ago, with bags under my eyes, as well as in my hands.It’s Over!screams the headline.Jett Carter dumps Scottish girlfriend Lexie. Full story on page 5!

This time I don’t bother flicking to page 5. I already know the rest of this story. Instead, I reach for the phone and dial McTavish’s number, hating myself for doing it, but not knowing who else to call.

I can’t believe Mum kept these, I think, flicking idly through the pile of magazines as I wait for McTavish to pick up.

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