It was after nine, Alex was drinking a glass of white wine to celebrate his return to health. He was procrastinating and he knew it. He had eaten cheese and crackers for his frugal supper. He should phone Edward, he really should. The sky was darkening and Alex suddenly missed the blissful solitude he'd enjoyed this summer. He had enjoyed seeing the crops in the nearby fields ripen, be harvested and the fields were now being ploughed, from green to gold and now brown. In August, Alex had lain awake at night listening to the distant drone of the combine harvesters working until the after midnight. It had been strange, the the low rubble had been comforting. Rural Yorkshire was an alien place for a boy who had grown up in cities. He looked at the blank journal by his chair, half the pages torn out already and burnt. He had not written a word worth recalling in months. He picked up a pen...
Broken, I am not broken.
I have bent in the winds of adversity.
You call me reckless.
I acted out of need to be heard.
Alex then threw the pen down in disgust. Such self obsessed drivel.
Alex did not feel guilty for not talking to Edward. It wasn't like he hadn't been in touch. He's sent a couple of postcards. Both posted from Moscow, via Maria. So the journalist knew he was alive. Alex just hadn't been in the mood to socialize or go over the crap about the book, his horrible past or to justify the fact he was a complete recluse. It was good being a nobody again. Alex's brief brush with fame, publicity and being in the public eye had always led to a strange distorted pseudo Alex on display, his masks were there for all to see. Most of the press sensationalized his bad days not caring that most of the time he was a boring nobody. He liked the quiet, dull life away from London. Its not as if Alex had any close friends, not anymore. He really could not put it off any longer and not face Maria's wrath.
Three rings and Liz Pleasure answered the phone. She was in the middle of creating for a new production and did not need any distraction. She answered the blasted device with a curt "Hello!"
"Umm.. Liz? Err.. Is Edward there? Its Alex, Alex Rider." It sounded so weird after calling himself Alex Beckett since May.
"Oh, how are you, Alex? Thank you for your flowers on my birthday. They were lovely?'
"Well florists are great, you pay they create. I'm glad you liked the bouquet. So is Edward home?"
"No, he's somewhere... let me see... his diary states he's at a meeting with some director over script rewrites. He was due back at seven but he rang to say the meeting was running late. You could try his mobile."
"Ok Liz, I'll text him."
Hi Edward, its Alex. You can get me on this number. I spoke to Liz. You have your priorities wrong, leaving your lovely lady home alone on a Friday night. She might be tempted to stray...
Alex went to put the kettle on. He kept his wine consumption to a bottle over the weekend, which worked out at two small glasses a night. He was going to have a cup of chai tea and have a sit in the backyard, and think back to the wonderful feeling of smoking, God he missed it.
The square of concrete with a small deck and outdoor dining area, It was tiny but manageble. A few herbs in pots, not that Alex did much cooking. He did not call reheating ready meals or throwing together pasta and a jar of sauce, cooking. What was the point? He had ordered a few take out pizzas, but the three local takeaways were not a patch on Luigi's in Chelsea. Where the pizzas had been cooked in an authentic wood fired oven. The dough peppered with flecks of ash. Alex had only been to Turin in Italy. He must travel a bit and explore new horizons. He had all the time in the world. Maybe, next year, at the moment he was just happy just to be still, unobserved and alone.
The peace of the evening twilight was disturbed when a young woman with brown hair came out of the neighbours house. "Hi, I'm Delia. Mum's told me a lot about the polite boy living next door ."
Alex put down his tea cup "Hello Delia, I'm Alex. How's medical school? As you can see your mother talks about you as well."
"It's good. I love Edinburgh and plan to stay on up there after I graduate next year." The girl flicked her brown bob and smiled "Fancy a trip into town. I'm meeting a few friends for a drink at the Spotted Cow?"
"Thanks for offering but can I rain check. I'm thinking of an early night. I'm always shattered after getting poked and prodded by my doctor in York."
"Oh anything serious?"
"Yeah, kind of, serious head injury in February. It's taken a whole to get back up to speed and I daren't go back to my bad old habits of partying hard." Alex then looked at the girls disbelieving face. "After my last stint in rehab I've sworn off pubs, clubs and parties in general. For you information it was hard drugs and excessive alcohol, not the bullshit about exhaustion most of the other guys staying at St. Jude's went on about. Best keep out of temptations way."
"Sure thing Alex. Rain check"
Alex always found absolute honesty and bluntness was the best way to get people to back off. The idea of standing in a pub drinking beer would just, in the end, lead him to purchasing chemical enhancement of the very illegal variety. He loved the loss of control, the black dreamless oblivion promised by getting the right combination of vodka, coccaine and heroin. The edge of darkness, that promised never waking up. He had vowed to himself, to Maria and initially to Sergei, he would not fall off the wagon. Stick to wine and champagne but nothing stronger. Alex then laughed at his continued wrier's block, the truth was without being off his head his muse had left.
...
Alex looked at his phone as it rang far too early on a Sunday morning. 07:20. Shit, fuck and buggery, who the hell was ringing him this early.
"What?"
"Err.. Alex? Its Edward... Sorry I lost track of time and I just read your text. Its after 9am in Moscow?"
"Yeah... I guess...Fuck, Edward! I live in England so its still sleeping in time for a normal Sunday. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes. I need a slash and a cup of tea."
Edward Pleasure had been so sure Alex was still in Russia. Then again, Alex was a law unto himself and had lived quietly and off the radar in Chichester for year. True to his word, Alex called back after 25 minutes. "How are you Alex? Are you back living in Sussex?"
Alex thought back to the joyless, practically squalid bedsit he'd resided in while at college. "No, God, no. Somewhere rural and quiet. I'm fit and well, just not in touch with any of the old crowd. So why do you need to see me?"
"Right, the film is all green lighted. The script is finished, but I would prefer you're approval of the 'fictionalised account'. I'd prefer you OK it rather than think its a complete fairy tale. Its graphic in places. There are open auditions for teenage you in London starting on Tuesday at the London School of Musical Theatre, Borough Road near Waterloo."
"Fictionalised?... right! To tell you the truth, I could not tell you the real nightmare about Sayle because of the OSA. All the crap about Yassen was spot on. The actor they've cast is fit, isn't he? Yassen is beautiful, you know. I did not fall for an ugly bastard. He never lied as well, he was the real deal of brutally honest. Fuck, I've not really thought about that crap for weeks. I do need to talk to you about getting over writer's block. I've produced drivel when I've tried to write. Verse is not flowing, not anymore. I've discussed it with my therapist, but she thinks its because I'm in limbo here. She thinks I'll start writing when I get my shit together and start dating again. I'm a recluse here, no socialising at all. Well, that way I'm not tempted to get shitfaced."
"I promise the actor is fit. I'm not naming him because the director is wanting to keep details under wraps. So, are you coming to London?"
"Sure Edward, I'll see you bright and early on Tuesday in Waterloo."