Page 58 of Vine

CASPIAN

In the dark aftermath of his mother’s death, it was easy to see how Colette had won Max around. Her easy manner reminded me of my first primary school teacher. Nurturing and unflappable; if I confessed to stealing the pink crayon or a pen pal relationship with a serial killer, I doubted she’d bat an eyelid. Nor was she surrounded by the usual professional trappings beloved of private psychologists. We were seated in her kitchen for a start, not an office. And instead of framed qualifications on the walls, there were smiley photos of friends and family. A stern-faced Max peered out of one of them. Next to me, a pile of clean laundry waited to be ironed.

“What does a contented life look like to you, Caspian?”

My mind jumped to Max and his shell creations, his simple routines, and his dog. I’d been here before with questions like this. I’d hoped this Colette woman might be different.

“Not other people’s lives,” she added. “Or an idealised version. But yours. A pragmatic one. An achievable one, where you live with your anxieties, but are no longer controlled bythem. Take your time, I’ll make us both a drink while you think about it.”

“Not working in television,” I began. “But I don’t have any other trade.”

“If you did,” she persisted.

“Perhaps outdoors.”Outdoors?A Londoner like me? Wow, that idea had totally bypassed my conscious mind.

“Could you expand on that?”

“Um… not really?” I searched my brain for something to grasp on to. “I… I suppose I enjoyed the Formula 3 training. Being out on the track. And I enjoy pruning the vines, I think, if I separate it from everything else going on here. The fresh air and monotony of it soothes my mind. I’ve appreciated the changing seasons.”

“Good.” She poured milk for us both. “Let’s park that for a moment. Where do you see yourself living when filming finishes?”

“Not in London,” I added promptly. “Being here has shown me that. The daily fight on the Tube, the social stuff, the endless competing, it stresses me out. I can’t do it anymore. Maybe not even England.” I considered Emma, boldly planning a move to the other side of the world. “Which is a problem because, as I said, television work is all I know.”

“But you said you don’t want to pursue it any longer,” she pointed out.

“No. I don’t.”

A pause followed, during which she made a few notes on a pad. Or annotated her shopping list. It was difficult to say. The supposedly cosy chat had very quickly drilled down to the nitty gritty. We were facing forwards, talking about the future, not analysing what went wrong in the past.

Was I really going to abandon television altogether?

The pen stopped, and she addressed me once more. “What about family?”

“I only have my mother. We… we’re not close. After my father died, she moved on quite quickly. She met someone else and remarried. I have a half-brother and sister. They’re much younger; I was at boarding school, then off at university while they were kids. I rarely see them.”

“Would you like to have a family of your own some day?”

It took me a while to answer that one, even though I’d pondered the question many times, both internally and aloud, during my happier years with Leigh. “No, I don’t think so. Although I’d like a committed, long-term partner. But I’m too self-absorbed for children. Too selfish, too inward-looking. Which are character flaws people don’t often admit to, aren’t they?” I gave a little laugh. “I do havesomeinsight.”

“But you think a life partner might cope with that.”

“The right one, yes.” An image of Max massaging my feet, as if they were precious, flitted through my mind. “I’m… I’m very fond of Max. I’d like to grow fonder of him, given the space. He’d like me to stay here on the island. To give us a chance to see if it could grow into something special, and I think I’d like that too. But I think, at the moment, there are too many competing voices in my head to explore those feelings properly.”

“What’s the loudest voice right now, Caspian?”

That was easy. “My anxiety. Combined with the embarrassment of a bunch of colleagues and strangers seeing me so… so hopeless. And pathetic. Which makes me even more anxious.”

A lump welled in my throat, and I swallowed a gulp of too-hot coffee, determined not to cry. Even self-pity exhausted me.

“Do you consider Max a stranger?” She gave a little laugh. “I had the impression you were more than that to each other.”

“No, not Max. We are more. As I said, if my health improved, then I’d like to see if we can work something out. He’s… he’s wonderful. No, I meant his brother and sister-in-law. And people on set who are temporary friends, but not really.”And you.

“Yes, I can see that’s embarrassing.”

I cringed at the hazy memory of yelling at Leigh and Jonas, under the curious stares of the camera crew, all wondering if, this time, I’d really lost it. My shameful retching and collapse. Needing Max to rescue me. I felt splayed open.

“Does Max know how you feel about him?”

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