Stars

I suppose the two of us both assumed that it was to be a one-night stand type thing, but he ended up staying in my flat for three days afterwards. He wasn’t mooching – I wouldn’t let anyone do that, but for those three days we didn’t leave the house. We just watched films, had sex, ate Chinese takeaway and listened to really good music.

It was a shame that it had to end, but we both had things to get on with. Tom had to be back in London by Saturday night, to travel to Luton Airport, to go on holiday with his sister. I’d been given an apartment for a month that I was apparently sharing with the guy playing Laertes. I had to be in Stratford-Upon-Avon by Sunday morning at nine, so I was getting the five AM train.

I drove him to the train station and sat with him whilst he waited for six o’clock to hit. There was a kind of awkwardness in the air until he suggested we get coffee – so we sat in a Costa for half an hour, sipping on our hot beverages, trying to keep our feet warm and staring at one another when the other wasn’t supposedly looking (I was looking). He cleared his throat and put his fingerless-gloved hands onto the table. “I noticed a Jiffy bag came for you this morning. Was it your Hamlet script?”

I shook my head and swallowed my mouthful of cookie, “You’d assume wrong.” I pinched my nose to avoid sneezing and continued, “I believe it’s the script to the Poirot Christmas episode, which I’ve been after for about three years.” I paused briefly and looked around, “I think I could be in for a good role, but I don’t know yet as they said they’d place a letter with my fate on in the Jiffy bag.”

“Good luck,” He said, smiled and picked up his cup of coffee, taking a sip.

“I’ll cut and dye my hair for a part in that, I swear. What else have you got lined up for 2009?”

He tapped his nose and smirked, “Secret business.”

I laughed and joined my hands at the fingertips, “Oh come on, darling. I entrusted you with potentially confidential information – elaborate on your secret business?”

He rolled his eyes, “Christmas two–parter with Dame Judi Dench and some other famous faces. I might cry when I meet her.”

“I thought you were unflappable.”

“Gosh, you thought wrong. When I found out I was to be in something where I was acting alongside Kenneth Branagh, I fangirled over the phone to my mother for two hours.” I quietly laughed and his eyebrows furrowed, “Don’t pass out when you meet Jude Law, please? You’ll never forgive yourself if you do.”

I moved my chair around the circular table, making a horrific noise against the floor until thighs were brushing. I placed my head in the crook of his neck and wrapped my arms around his chest. “You know too well already.”

He chuckled, “You were crying the whole way through that film because you were going to be acting with him and you know, might even get to kiss him! It was surprising when you didn’t even cry when Matt Damon’s charact-”

I placed my cold finger against his lips and shushed him, “People might not know. Hush.”

He sighed, laughed and then took my hand within his, “Also, why suddenly so feely?” He kissed the side of my head, “Not that I’m complaining, honestly.”

“You’re leaving. I’m going to miss you and your glorious body. I mean, who else would willingly watch all three Godfather films followed by listening to the entire back catalogue of the Smiths with me? No one. Just you, dollface.”

I loosened up my hold on him and lifted up my head as he bent down to open to leather, satchel style bag to withdraw his phone and a tattered copy of Private Peaceful. “I will see you again Sylvie Sternberg. I’ll hand you this dog eared book as proof we will meet again, just like old Vera Lynn sung.”

I rummaged about in my bag too and produced a copy of The Catcher In The Rye and my phone. “Take this – it’s my beloved school copy, annotated to hell and back, but with so much love. I’m almost certain you’ve read it before,” He nodded, “However, you’ve never read my copy that explains the ducks, the nuns, the prostitute and how the fuck they’re relevant.”

He switched on his phone and then dropped it when it began to vibrate. “Shit, shit, shit.” He picked it back up from the floor and checked the screen for damage before speaking, “Your phone please, mademoiselle?”

I handed him my phone, already opened up on my contacts. As he copied his number into his newly created profile, the tannoy announced his train had arrived and he shot up from his seat, chair knocking backwards onto the floor. He was still typing into the phone and was trying to wind his scarf all the way around his neck. “I expect to hear from you soon, sir. I want my t-shirt back.” I said, pointing at him in regards to the baggy Nirvana shirt he was wearing (it smelled of Chanel No. 5, but he insisted he didn’t mind smelling like a classy French woman).

He grabbed my hand and walked us towards the barriers, “I’m keeping the boxers and I may just keep the top too.”

I jabbed him in the chest and gasped, “Don’t you dare.” I then got on my tip-toes and wrapped my arms around him,

He pressed a kiss to my lips and put his right hand in my hair, “Text me when you’re home?” I nodded, “Promise to call as well?”

“I promise. On my life, Tom.” I replied, “The only plausible reason for my not calling would be if I got mauled by a bear and if it stole my phone.”

“Now that would be tremendous luck.” He chuckled, kissing me again, his tongue probing slightly, but stopped and broke away, putting his forehead against mine. “I must catch this train or my sister will castrate me.”

I bit my lip and smiled sadly as he went through the barriers, “Take care.”

He turned around and grinned, “You too.”