Chapter 4
The Jury Is Still Out
"Hi."
I look up from my magazine when I perceive the slightly familiar voice next to me.
"Hello again," I greet Benedict, who is taking the seat beside me – without asking, of course.
"What are you reading?" he wants to know.
"Nothing important," I answer, dismissively. "Just 'Hello'!"
"Oh, yeah …"
Benedict smiles and shows me his journal.
"'Heat'."
I nod and turn back to my own magazine, when …
"Oh, no!" Benedict suddenly exclaims. "I don't believe it …"
"What is it?"
"Just Top 5 Sexiest Film Stars," Benedict explains.
"Are you in it?" I ask, uninterested.
"Number one," Benedict answers, proudly. "Stupid."
"Yep."
"What do they mean, these lists, anyway?"
"Nothing, really."
"Don't slag them off!" Benedict demands. "It's their opinion. Just …"
He pauses.
"Oh, no," he then groans. "Look at this woman magazine."
He holds up his journal and I glance at the top article, frowning.
"'I'm having an affair with my brother-in-law's ghost'?" I read.
"No, that!" Benedict says, impatiently. "Women's Top Ten Fantasy Snogs. Number one again."
"What's that thing about the ghost?" I want to know.
"'My husband's brother's ghost visits me at night and I think I'm falling in love with him'," Benedict reads out loud.
My eyes widen.
"Do they have sex?" I gasp.
"Well, it doesn't say," Benedict answers. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Look, we were looking at the Number One Fantasy Snogs For Women. Number one, Benedict Cumberbatch. Oh, better not show this to James McAvoy. He is only number six."
"Really?" I reply. "He would be my number one."
"Well, you would be wrong, wouldn't you?" Benedict says, chuckling. "I am number one! There is the proof!"
He points at his journal.
"It was the same on the set of 'Atonement'," he continues. "Me and Keira Knightley do that sunbathing scene at the lake with Patrick Kennedy, I do a brilliant take, everyone claps, and Joe Wright, the director, goes, 'That was amazing, Ben!', but Keira goes, "Oh, can we perhaps make it a tad more romantic, like I could kiss Ben or something, when he gives me the cigarette?' … Have you seen the film?"
"No."
"Anyway," Benedict continues, regardless. "I know what she is up to, so I tease her, and I go, 'If you want to kiss somebody, why don't you kiss James McAvoy?'. She goes, 'Don't make me sick! I'm going to vomit if I only think about that library scene!'"
"Why do you keep talking about James McAvoy?" I demand.
"I don't keep talking about him," Benedict objects. "I never talk about him, he is boring. He is a prat."
"Is he?"
"Hell, yeah!" Benedict snorts. "Where I'm from, he wouldn't last five minutes. He would get a smack in his ugly face straightaway."
"And where are you from?" I ask, ignoring the 'ugly face'.
"Hammersmith, London."
"Okay …"
I nod.
"But in the end, they are all subjective, those lists, I mean, aren't they?"
"Well, no," Benedict contradicts. "Obviously, I am objectively really good-looking."
"But looks are not objective, are they?" I retort. "Beauty always lies in the eye of the beholder."
"What do your eyes behold when they look at me, then?" Benedict asks, looking at me expectantly.
"Honestly?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, nothing so beautiful, actually," I admit.
Benedict blinks.
"You what?"
"I'm sorry," I apologize. "But, personally, I think you are a wee bit … you know …"
I stop in mid-sentence, afraid to give him the truth right between the eyes, and make an evasive gesture instead.
"You are winding me up, now, aren't you?" Benedict asks, amused.
"No."
Benedict takes a deep breath and nods.
"I tell you what," he then begins. "Come out for a drink later."
"With you?"
"No, with Martin and Andrew," Benedict says, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, of course with me."
I shake my head.
"I can't," I refuse. "Sorry."
"Why not?"
"I'm meeting a friend."
"Tell him something came up!" Benedict suggests. "He will understand."
"I doubt it," I suppose. "Not for drinks, at least."
"Let's have dinner, then," Benedict insists. "You and me, at the King's Arms. My treat."
"Why would I want to have dinner with you?"
"To get to know me."
"I already do."
"No, I mean, the normal me," Benedict explains. "Just take a better look at me and, you know, see the attractiveness."
I hesitate.
"But I don't think you are," I confess quietly, yet honestly. "Attractive, I mean."
Benedict stares at me, flabbergast, and for a moment I think he is going to faint or something. But he doesn't. Instead he slowly gets up and looks down at me, disappointment and disbelief in his eyes.
"Liar!" he says, and despite my rebuff his voice doesn't sound angry or narked.
I almost feel sorry for him as he turns on his heel and walks away without another word. But what can I do? I am just not that into him.
