Remember My Name. Havana Adams

news would be trickling out that she was gone. Tomorrow, it would be confirmed and like Chris who had gone before her, stories and half-truths would grow and settle around her name to explain her mysterious disappearance. But what with the Angelina scandal on the cover of the papers and her sudden departure, it would not be long before someone put the rest of the story together. Talia sat in silence as a headache pounded through her head shooting needles of pain around her temples. On autopilot she climbed off the train at her stop, noticing how empty the station was. It was the middle of the afternoon, people were at work; she should be at work. A loud sob rose in her throat but she held it back and composed herself as she tapped her ticket on the reader and exited the station.

      Without thought Talia headed towards Hampstead Heath, a long diversion through the park, which she rarely allowed herself to enjoy. The sunny day had brought the yummy mummies out in force and, barely aware, Talia slipped her shoes off and sat on the grass watching as super-slim women with Pilates-toned arms laughed and talked and rocked prams or kept one eye on toddlers running around. Talia put her head in her hands, as once again tears threatened. This morning her world had been on track and now in the space of hours, it had all fallen apart. For a moment she reached into her bag for her mobile phone and then stopped, remembering that her phone had been on her desk, it would be mailed to her. Perhaps, she thought, it was just as well. She thought briefly of calling Simone or Helena but dismissed the thought quickly; she wasn’t yet ready to talk to anyone. Anything she said would surely end with her sobbing on Hampstead Heath. Talia started as she felt the cold sprinkle of water on her bare feet, followed by tinkling, childish giggles. She turned to see a small girl watching her with curious eyes, a small water pistol in her hand.

      “Where’s your baby?” the little girl asked and for a moment Talia’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the child’s babyish speech and then she glanced around, her forehead clearing as she realised the reason for the child’s question and understood. All around her, apart from the occasional jogger, were young mums and their babies. With a small stiff smile, Talia rose to her feet; she didn’t belong here. She slipped her shoes back on and continued the walk towards the flat. As she made her way down the high street, her eyes were caught by something and her quick footsteps slowed to a dead halt. She stopped outside a small exclusive boutique staring at their window display. There in the window was the Mulberry handbag, the one that she would have been buying for herself this weekend. Now the tears came hard and fast, a tide that could not be stemmed. Pride and embarrassment were cast aside and Talia sobbed for the bag that she wouldn’t now buy with the fruits of her promotion. She cried for the script commission that was gone. She cried for the job that she loved and the sacrifices she had made as she finally realised that Damian was right, no one would ever employ her again. Like Chris, she was dead to the world of TV. Her career was over and now all she had left was some unmarked grave to crawl into.

      Five hours later, Talia woke to the sound of pounding on her door. For a moment, confusion reigned – how could she feel so bad and where was she? She felt a burst of nausea and suddenly she was violently sick, turning only just in time so that the vomit was directed into the bucket that had been placed by her bed. The knocking had stopped and slowly the door opened and Nina entered. The look of sympathy that was etched on her face immediately brought it all back to Talia and in a flash, the crushing well of hurt was back. She remembered arriving home, having cried herself hoarse outside of the boutique in Hampstead. After telling Nina the story she’d drunk an entire bottle of Baileys that she’d found in the fridge.

      “Are you OK?” Concern was etched onto Nina’s face as she moved into the room, coming to crouch down next to Talia’s bed. Nina handed her a tall glass of water, which Talia gratefully sipped from as she sat up slowly in bed.

      “I said I didn’t want to be woken ever again,” she muttered as she set the glass down.

      “Look, Helena called, something’s happened.” At Nina’s words Talia sat up straighter, the fog clearing quickly from her brain.

      “What’s wrong?” Talia demanded, her own troubles momentarily forgotten as her thoughts turned to her best friend. “Is she OK?” Nina shook her head slowly.

      “You’d better call her.”

      With a sick sense of worry, Talia took the mobile phone that Nina was holding out to her. As she turned to dial the number, she caught a glimpse of herself in a small mirror and she grimaced. Her face seemed hollow, her eyes dark pools in her face and she had dark circles under her eyes. This morning, she’d had everything to play for and now it seemed that the old phrase was true: it never rained but it poured.

       CHAPTER 8

      “If there’s anything at all that I can do for you…”

      The flight attendant let the words hang in the air as she refilled his glass of Scotch and Alex was in no doubt that when she said anything, she really did mean anything. He slumped heavily in his seat thinking about the brief phone conversation that he’d had with his sister. Alex shook the memory off and glanced up, watching as once again the flight attendant cruised down the aisle past him. He noted that a further two buttons on her shirt had been undone in the minutes since she’d last topped up his drink and offered to tend to whatever needs he might have. Alex smiled at her, flashing the wattage, without any real intent, as slowly he reclined in the first-class bed and pulled his eye mask down over his eyes. He settled deeper into the bed and once again the phone call came flooding back. Since he’d spoken to Helena, he’d been to hell and back, beating himself up as he realised that once again he’d let his sister down. He should have been there for her. Only now, four days after he’d first spoken to Helena, did it occur to him that he should have flown to London straight away, that he should not have waited till the last possible moment before the funeral, before catching a flight out of LAX. Alex gave a deep sigh as he thought of Richard Golden, his grandfather, in truth the only father he had ever known. His Gramps, who’d first taken him to the theatre, who had encouraged him through the early years and the bit parts. Shit. Alex tugged the eye mask off his face and ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed his glass and downed the remains of the Scotch. He hated the maudlin thoughts that had been chasing across his mind these last few hours. More than that he hated the sense of dissatisfaction that seemed to linger all about him. His mind flicked back to all the messages he’d received on his mobile phone, condolences as the news had broken that Max Maguire was to replace him in Defender. This was Hollywood after all, and the piranhas scented blood in the water. He’d been replaced and by a younger model; these messages of condolences were little more than opportunities to gloat. Alex thought about Shay, who’d efficiently organised his flight. What would he do without her? And then with a heavy sigh, he realised that he would probably have to do without her, she’d not agreed to come back. For once, he’d been unable to charm her into changing her mind. He tipped his bed up into a seating position and glanced down the first class cabin, which had been artificially darkened to allow the passengers to sleep. The winsome hostess who’d been so eager to cater to his needs stood towards the back of the cabin. Maybe she was exactly what he needed. Alex was already out of his seat, prowling slowly down the aisle, before he could allow his brain to catch up.

      “There is something you can help me with.” He leaned in close to whisper into the attendant’s ear. Her eyes lit up and Alex glanced at her name badge: Kelly – watching as a wide smile spread across her face.

      “This way, sir,” she said with a wink.

      Her moan was muffled and in the side-on reflection Alex could see that she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He looked away again; he had no need to see them reflected. It was, after all, a scene that he’d played myriad times before – different flights, different girls and different first class washrooms. Even in first class, room was tight, but nonetheless there was enough space for him to bend the attendant over, her tight skirt pushed up and gathered around her waist. He’d regretted it almost as soon as she’d led him in here. The grateful look of excitement had grated on him. His hands tightened on her bony hips and he thrust into her hard, his hand drifting around between her thighs to stroke her roughly, drawing her own wetness to her clit