Cinnamon Twigs (22 page)

             
The months grew closer and her inevitable departure, the undiscovered country for our relationship - long distance - loomed. She left me Stitch, her fat brown teddy bear, to look after. He stayed on the bed, next to my bear, but the souvenir didn’t make up for her. I wasn’t okay with her going, but I had to get over myself and deal with it. Reminds me of Ed Sheeran’s lyrics, ‘I said that’s fine, but you’re the only one that knows I lied’.

             
The first couple of weeks were the hardest, knowing she was so many miles away, that we were separated by so much sky and sea. I became very emotional, seeking her scent as I nursed Stitch, a great hole in my life, not being able to contact her as often as I’d like. Missed her smile, her smell, gazing into her eyes, the softness of her lips, silly faces she’d pull, her laugh, her annoying knuckle-cracking, her playfully poking me in the ribs, her hair in my face, her warmth, her voice and intonations. My main fear was that things would go the same way as they did with Lisa: the texts would stop, we’d grow apart through the distance. At times, alone with my thoughts, panic would take over, contemplation of the ridiculous: a desire to phone her up and tell her to come back immediately. That’s the difficult thing about married life - you become so dependent on somebody else and it’s difficult to regain your independence.

             
She came back after just three months. I thought she’d find it easier having such a great time away. But with every new experience she wondered how I would have enjoyed it, wished she had me at her side. Missed me just as much. During those months I wrote a novel, even a play, had some poetry published in magazines. It felt good to get back to poetry. A lot easier, channeling my emotions, missing Lauren. Most of the stuff I churned out during that time concerned absence and distance. The experience made us even stronger when she came back. She got the desire for traveling out of her system. I regained a sense of independence that can only be healthy for a relationship. My career would force distance between us on many occasions, so this felt like a good trial.

             
And the sex when she came back was bloody fantastic! 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Elliott’s Recommendation

Lauren and I stayed at our modest flat during the following couple of years. But we both knew it would soon be time to move on to bigger things. I’d been fortunate enough to have a second book published at that time, a romance novel called
Love and Lithium
, which had been written during Lauren’s traveling exploits. My mother called it ‘soppy, women’s fiction.’ But I’m sure she was vaguely impressed by it. The novel charts the descent of a man named Lee, who goes from being a university graduate with promising prospects to a tramp, raging in the streets of Cardiff on a tempestuous night. It was regular rise and fall kind of stuff. But this ‘soppy, women’s fiction’ wasn’t like other romance novels. His lover is a fellow tramp, and the book concerns their relationship and the hardships they suffer as society tears them apart. I wouldn’t say it was my best work but I’m still proud of it as my first venture into adult fiction. Hate the title though. That was the publisher’s choice. I wanted to call it
A Dog in Office
, or simply
Lee
!

             
I moved from the stage to screen. I received a phone call from a girl who’d seen me in a Shakespeare comedy and liked the look (she thought I was hot - not sure if she was impressed by the acting) of me and asked if I could play a policeman in a movie she was Second Assistant Director on. I was reluctant. Even though I hadn’t done a proper movie before, it sounded like unpaid work as an extra to me, and it meant filming from 10pm until 10am in Swansea. So I cheekily asked if she could use her powers of seduction to get me some dialogue. The result was that I had my first speaking part in a British independent movie shown at cinemas and everything, with some real well known talent involved. I made friends with the Location Manager, who happened to be on set, and he promised to get me more work. The shoot was difficult given the crazy shift, and the famous actors could often be obnoxious. But I impressed the crew and even improvised a comedy line that stayed in the final cut. After arresting a robber disguised as a tiger (odd, I know) my character states, ‘Have fun at prison, Tony. You’ll have a Grrrrreat time!’ Dreadful, of course. But it had the crew in fits of sleep-deprived laughter.

             
Tiny parts like this, supporting artist kinda work but with some dialogue, gradually mounted as I did my best to be charming and network with as many important people as possible. Eventually the roles got bigger and I moved into television. I had cameos in various soap operas, and even played the main villain in a gothic horror series. The series had been great fun, but it was eventually cancelled due to budget constraints. I was given the opportunity to audition for that show because I’d gotten along with the director of a short film I’d played a soldier (they always had me wearing uniform of some kind) in. People started to recognize me in the streets, and I knew I’d made inroads in the acting business. But I wasn’t making big money from either acting or writing, and I worked hard just to keep my head above water. I told Lauren not to accept any more money from her parents, because we had to make our own way. Times could be difficult, but we’d always pull through and pay our bills. I’d chosen the right career path and would be successful if I stuck at it.

             
My lucky break came in the form of a phone call. Success results from a mixture of hard work and luck. I was incredibly fortunate to make a success of my acting career. The caller was my old friend Elliott. Since I’d last seen him, he’d been working in television as a screenwriter. He’d been involved in successful television projects, including a series called
The Upstart
, about a scandal involving a plagiarizing university student and a professor specializing in Shakespeare. It was a project I could have, hell,
should
have, come up with.

             
‘Hi, Daniel. It’s Elliott,’ he said.

             
‘Elliott, how did you get hold of my number?’

             
‘With much difficulty. You never did call me so we could meet up. Do you even remember me?’

             
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, perfunctorily.

             
‘Would you like to go out for a meal? I know a fancy restaurant you may like.’

             
‘What for?’ I asked.

             
‘Well, to catch up obviously. And I have a proposition that you may find interesting.’

             
‘Sure.’

             
Elliott told me to meet him at a restaurant in Cardiff Bay. It wasn’t as fancy as he made out. The place had an air of superficiality about it, confirmed by pretentious silk curtains and oblong, marble-topped tables. But the food there was delicious. I ordered a mixed grill and a glass of
Sauvignon Blanc
, although I wasn’t a great wine lover at the time. Only asked for a glass because Elliott did, and I thought it would be improper to order a pint of lager. Elliott considered himself a wine connoisseur. Amid the constant murmur of people chatting around us, he praised the ‘herbaceous wine’ and explained the processes that went into winemaking. After he’d bored me with the definitions of such whimsical terms as ‘maceration’ and ‘
élevage
,’ I snapped.

             
‘Have you invited me here just to bore me with talk of wine?’

             
‘I’m sorry.’ He bowed his head.

             
‘No. I shouldn’t have snapped, mate. But I really don’t take an interest.’

             
‘You should have said.’ He smiled tamely. ‘I’ve read your book by the way.’

             
‘Which one?’

             
‘The romance novel.’

             
‘Really… What did you think?’

             
‘I liked it very much. It wasn’t very conventional…’

             
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ I said.

             
‘I liked the basic premise. It was a very good psychological analysis of the protagonist.’

             
‘Thank you.’

             
‘I just didn’t expect the sad ending.’

             
‘Well, I find happy endings dull.’ I plunged my fork into my steak.

             
‘Hmm, the narrative was very complex as well.’

             
‘I deliberately distorted the linear time sequence.’

             
‘So, it was a postmodern take on the romance genre.’

             
‘Yeah, I suppose it was.’

             
‘I can’t say postmodernism appeals to me. I find it all too nihilistic. I guess I’m a staunch believer in logic.’ He sipped his wine.

             
‘I find there’s very little logic in the world these days. If we believe in every explanation given to us, we become sheep.’

             
‘Maybe.’

             
‘Or lambs to the slaughter.’

             
‘Ended quite abruptly too, didn’t it…’

             
‘That was
intentional
.’

             
‘How is your meal?’

             
‘Bloody good.’ I gave a false grin that would cause most actors to consider retirement.

             
‘You know, I like sitting here and talking about literature with you.’

             
‘I’m sure you did it all the time with your Oxford pals.’

             
‘Not as often as you might think.’

             
‘That’s a shame.’

             
‘You’ve always wanted to do everything, haven’t you, Dan?’

             
‘What do you mean?’

             
‘You’re not content with being just a writer.’

             
‘I have many passions.’

             
‘And one of them is acting.’

             
‘Yeah, that’s right.’

             
‘Have you ever heard of a writer named Jonathon Boyle?’

             
‘Yeah.’

             
‘And have you ever read the Dean Mathis books?’

             
‘I’ve read one or two. They’re very good.’

             
Jonathon Boyle was an established and admired writer. He gave birth to the character of Dean Mathis, a vengeful, cold-hearted hero with a penchant for cigars and expensive wine. Far from being an upstart, Boyle had grown up in an upper class environment and was the very picture of English elegance and sophistication, typically clad in tailored suits and hand-made shirts. But his novels lampooned English nobility. Dean Mathis disliked overt displays of his heritage, which was similar to Boyle’s. But he could never get away from it. I saw the character as a cross between James Bond and Sherlock Holmes - a detective, fighting against terrorism after losing his parents during an attack. A rogue hero, who didn’t work for any particular organization.

             
‘A movie producer named Derek Noland wants to put the books to screen.’ Elliott placed his knife and fork on his plate.

             
‘Really…’

             
‘Yeah, he thinks Dean Mathis could go down very well with cinematic audiences.’

             
‘I agree with him.’

             
‘But they’re having a nightmare with casting. They just can’t find someone right for the part of Mathis.’

             
‘Well, they need a real bastard. The character is a misanthropic wanker.’

             
‘They’re looking for someone to convey that.’

             
‘Good luck to them.’

             
‘I happen to be good friends with Boyle’s publisher. I’ve given the publisher a name to give to Noland.’

             
‘What sort of name?’ I asked.

             
‘The name of someone I think could pull it off as Dean Mathis.’

             
‘Oh, who did you have in mind?’

             
‘You.’

 
              ‘What?’

             
‘I saw you in that horror series. You were very good at playing a serial killer. You really know how to display that sinister edge.’