Orlando Bloom Central // fanfiction

The Way the Cookie Crumbles
Author: Marie
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Chapter 1

"So I'm not in, then?"
A pause. He nodded
	"Not right. Ok, sorry, could you just elaborate on the, uh, not right
bit?"
Another pause. He nodded again.
	"Yeah, I understand. No, that's fine. Yeah, you can't elaborate. Yes,
no, that's fine. Thanks, uh, anyway then." He put down the phone and ruffled
his hair.
	"Shite. Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
Orlando slammed his fist on the table then checked himself and sighed
loudly. He slumped in the comfy chair next to the phone table and
closed his eyes, ignoring the intrusive blare of the radio and it's
hourly traffic update. Talking out loud, he ran through the phone
conversation he'd just had and tried not to let his temper rise.
Another audition failed. This time, his faith had reached an all time
low. Six auditions in as many months and nothing. Not one job. He was
coming towards the end of his degree at Guildhall and Orlando still
didn't have a job, apart from the part time bar work he did at Origins
(which paid less than
peanuts). 
	Over the past few weeks, he was seriously considering packing it
all in, to stop trying and to accept the fact that he was destined to
fail. There was nothing stable in acting, after all. That's what he
needed; stability. So he'd had bit parts in minor films and TV
programmes, but hadn't everybody? There wasn't a job for him, he might
as well just face it. God knows how many auditions he'd done; videos for
this, recordings for that, Catch 22, NetLife, Dreaming In … (what was it?
Las Vegas?) Lord of the Rings… Two had rejected  him and the other two
hadn't even bothered getting back to him. The video audition for Catch 22
and Lord of the Rings had been six months ago. Six months! And then
there was there audition for Midsomer Murders…ugh. 
	"Face it, it aint gonna happen."
He said quietly to himself. 
	"Fucking pointless."
He could always go back to Canterbury - he'd find something there. But he
loved acting so much! Why was life so harsh? He knew he could act, or at
least he thought he could, otherwise he wouldn't have landed the lead in
Twelfth Night or got as far as he had done in Guildhall. And yet two years
of painfully hard work had amounted to nothing.  And then there was his
back…he didn't even want to think about that. He had no job, the tenancy
on his flat was running out and, maybe worse of all, he was single. Could
things get much worse? 
	"Don't answer that."
He whispered to himself. It could though, and it had. The dog hadn't been
fed and there was no Pedigree Chum left. Great. 

                             * * *

	It was two hours later (or was it? His watch had stopped) and
he had fallen asleep in the comfy chair. His picture of a sun drenched
beach in Bali and was rudely interrupted by the abrupt ringing of a
phone. It took several seconds for him to establish that he was no
longer dreaming, and that he in fact, was not sunburnt and it was his
phone that was ringing. Blindly picking up the receiver, he mumbled
inaudibly into it.
	"Mmnb … uh?"
	"Orli, it's Sam, what happened, have you heard?" 
Samantha, Orlando's sister, was on the other end and talking abnormally
quickly, made harder to hear by the fact that there was a rather loud
rendition of Whistle Down the Wind being rehearsed in the background. 
	"Uh…what?"
He opened his eyes and tried to make sense of the stream of words
pouring into his ear.
"Have you heard?"
She repeated urgently. 
	"Have I heard what?"
He asked slowly. Was this bad news?
	"From the agent, you know, the bloke who you auditioned for…the
film with the really crap title?" 
	"Oh yeah, no, I didn't get it."
Orlando had managed to forget about the failed audition and hearing about
it physically hurt. His tone was a morose drone and very, very unhappy. 
Sam sighed on the other end of the phone. After a brief pause ("Let your
voices carry, Drown out all the…" was warbled badly.) in which Orlando
yawned twice, Sam asked in a small voice,
	"So what are you gonna do now?" 
	"That's just what I've been asking myself."
Another more lengthy pause ("light a patch of darkness, treacherous and
scary…")
	"Well, you've got to finish Guildhall, you've only got a month
left and you can't throw away two years of training. Everyone gets
rejected once in a while, don't they?"
	"Yeah, Sam, emphasis on 'once in a while', right? Six auditions,
six, and not one of them was successful. And that's just official
auditions. If you count the videotapes, the grouped auditions and the
interviews, that's fourteen rejected. Fourteen. If I was so right for
acting, then somebody would have accepted me. Admit that, at least."
Orlando was getting miffed, and with good reason. They'd had this
conversation after he'd been rejected before, every single time, and
before, Sam had had a comeback, something encouraging to say that
would lift his spirits. But now there was just…silence. (Apart from
the bad singer of Whistle Down the Wind reaching a painful crescendo.) 
	"But some of them haven't got back to you, right? Someone
might be trying to get through right now, accepting you."
Orlando knew she was being serious, but a small, pitiful laugh escaped
his lips. She really was naďve. The worst part was, even Sam didn't
believe what she was saying; he could hear it in her voice.
Orlando leant back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. 
	"Orli, look, I've got to go, but I'll come round later and we'll
go out, OK? We'll go to JJ's and it'll cheer you up. I'll ring…"
All this time, Orlando was trying to protest, to tell her that he
really wasn't in the mood and that he'd rather stay at home and wallow
in his own self pity. But Sam wasn't listening. 
	"I'll ring Andy and Eliot and Jess, and we'll all go out and…and…
we'll all get drunk!" Suddenly, in the absence of Whistle Down the Wind
being screeched, Sam's name was called across what Orlando could only
distinguish as an auditorium. 
	"Oh, look, I've really go to go now, I'll pick you up at seven,
OK? And Orlando?"
	"Yeah?"
He mumbled half heartedly.
	"Don't worry about it. About anything. You've got me."
He smiled wearily and said goodbye. The phone clicked off at the other
end and he heavily replaced the receiver. He sat for a while in utter
silence and tried to muster the energy to go out. A soft 'pad, pad,
pad' was heard and Maude, his dog, appeared round the corner of the
kitchen door. She ambled over to him and nuzzled her head in the cup
of his hand, desperate to be stroked and fed.
	"Ah. You still haven't been fed. Ugh."
Orlando petted the dog then jumped out of the chair and stretched,
elongating his already tall frame. Pulling on a faded denim jacket and
his wallet from the table, he grabbed his keys and left the flat,
headed for the supermarket. This dog needed food.



Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

	Orlando yawned as he walked down the street towards Tesco's. He
had cleverly managed to compile a mental list of things to get there,
all on a budget of Ł15. (The other fifty had to be saved for that
night - Jess wasn't known for finishing until everyone's pockets were
empty, and she certainly wasn't a lightweight.) Apples, Soymilk, dog
food, (obviously) bleach, bread, beans and pears, and some more Quorn
sausages. 
	Half way down the road, his mobile rang. It was Eliot. 
	"Hey you, what're you doing?"
	"I'm on my way to Tesco's. What are you doing?"
	"I'm in the middle of having my hair done."
	"Oh, right."
Eliot giggled and Orlando cleared his throat, disguising a laugh. 
	"Listen, Orli, I got a call from Sam earlier, and she said you
were in desperate need of cheering up. I heard about the phone call.
I'm sorry, mate, you ok?"
	"I'll live."
Was all he wanted to say.
	"That's the fighting talk I know!"
She giggled again.
	"So, is it ok if I turn up at yours at about seven, yeah?"
	"Yeah, that's fine. Hope you're stocked up financially, cos
Jess's coming!"
	"Oh, God, is she? Argh! I'll have to take some money out!"
	"Would be wise!"
	"Oh, right, ok, I've got to go, I'm just going for a rinse, I'll
be round at yours at seven then!"
	"Ok, see you later."
	"Byeeee."
She rang off and Orlando gave a confused smile. Eliot was insane at
the best of times, but she was never usually that mad. Almost
immediately after he ended the call, his phone beeped, indicating that
he had a message. Still walking, he opened it and laughed.
	Rite m8, hope u'v 
got sum Ł - Jess's 
cumin & she's in a 
gd mood. Thought 
I shud warn u! 
B @ urs 7.
It was from Andy, the King of Abbreviators. So, it would be Orlando,
Sam, Andy, Jess and Eliot. Tonight would be exhausting, he just knew
it. 
Crossing over the road, the sun was warm and the bright rays lit up his
face, accentuating his cheekbones and dark eyes. Orlando gladly enjoyed
the balmy glow on his face and rubbed his eyes, dispelling any sleep
that still lingered.
He was still mulling over the rejection over the phone when he reached
the entrance to Tesco's and was rather caught up in his own world,
therefore not noticing the woman he was about to bump into as he pulled
the wallet out of his pocket. It seemed she wasn't paying attention
either, as they walked straight into each other, her head nudging his
chest as they collided straight on. They both pulled back quickly and
apologised profusely, each mumbling and not really paying attention to
what the other was saying.
	"Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't…"
	"No, it was my fault, I couldn't,"
	"I just was a bit caught up with…and I just didn't…"
	"Don't apologise, it wasn't…"
And then they both stopped short of each other and looked one another
in the face. Orlando's breath caught in his throat; she was beautiful,
really beautiful, and he hadn't even noticed her. 
She did the same and stopped fiddling with the plastic bag she was
holding. She had striking features; large grey eyes and long jet black
hair pulled up into a rough knot at the back of her neck. Her features
were defined too; soft yet prominent cheekbones that were stained with
a cherry blush and a small, button nose. 
She was dressed in low slung, tatty jeans with holes on the knees and
a dark blue shirt, which was clearly intended for men, open to the
waist. Her trainers were once clean and white but after years of
wearing were now scuffed and dirty. 
However, her fashion sense totally escaped Orlando's discern; he was
too busy getting wrapped up in her eyes. All he could hear was the
deafening sound of his own heart hammering against his chest and the
blood rushing through his ears. An embarrassing redness engulfed him
as the silence in which they stood lengthened. Orlando could feel his
cheeks burning and his throat dry up. However, curiosity captivated
him more than embarrassment. 
	Their surroundings melted into each other, colours merging to
form an indistinct blur of paint. After a few moments (that passed
like an eternity), the girl's phone beeped that dragged them both back
into the harsh light of reality. The woman in front of Orlando bowed
her head slightly and massaged her forehead whilst he coughed and
rubbed the back of his neck. Tilting his head slightly, Orlando peered
under his dark eyebrows to better view the woman standing awkwardly in
front of him. Out of polite conversation (and to prolong his presence
around her, he admitted later,) Orlando cleared his throat again and
spoke gently.
	"Ah…are you OK? I mean did you hurt yourself?"
The girl was clearly taken aback by his speaking and so she took a
moment to compose herself and reply;
	"No…oh, I'm fine. Thank you. No pain here. A pain free zone. I
am completely devoid of pain."
She sighed, a look of utter embarrassed pain muddling her dark features
and cleared her throat. Orlando noted that her voice was quite deep,
but honeyed, and had a hint of an accent to it, indistinct but
definitely there. He was entranced.  The girl realised she was babbling
nonsensically and sighed again frustratedly. Checking herself and
starting again, Orlando watched her with an amused curiosity.
	"No, I'm fine, thank you. Are you alright? It was a pretty…erm…
hard collision."
He rubbed his chest mockingly and declared with a smile
	"I'm…great, thank you. Yeah, fine. A pain free zone." 
He tried, testing waters with this strange, beautiful woman whose
company he didn't want to leave. 
She smiled a warm smile that lit up her face even more than before.
Another awkward silence ensued, with neither breaking eye contact for
the risk of the other disappearing. During this prolonged and
unnecessary silence, the woman's phone beeped again which this time
totally distracted them. Mumbling started again and much scratching
of their heads, which lead to excuses.
	"Well, I ought to go then."
	"NO! No, no, no, no, no!"
He mentally screamed, but nothing he could think of to say would make
her stay unless he wanted to sound as though he had a serious intellect
deficiency. 
	"Yeah, me too."
They both smiled a tight lipped 'so-what-now" type smile and rolled
their eyes. 
	"Ok then. Well…uh, bye?"
She said and made to walk past him. Using his quick thinking and
lightning reflexes, Orlando pulled out the sixteen foot lasso rope
that he kept in his pocket, spun it above his head and cast it around
the woman's waist. Expertly tightening and pulling the rope taught
round her slim waist, he effortlessly bought her back to his side…
	A passing trolley crashing into the flower stall jogged him
from his imaginary scenario in time for him to say "Thank you. Bye
then." At the woman's back. She turned around and waved, continuing
to walk away. He had just thanked someone for walking into him. Twat.



Chapter 3

	For a few moments, he didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't
even blink. Orlando just smiled. He stood and watched her back
disappear into a crowd of people. Looking down at the floor, the
smile didn't leave his face until he saw a bunch of bananas and a
purse laid by his feet. They were hers. Orlando recalled hearing
something fall before, but didn't, no couldn't look down. 
	He picked the items up and spun around, expecting to see her
walk back through the crowd again and give him that smile. That smile…
	"You've forgotten your…"
The plump woman at the tobacconist kiosk looked heavily at him - he
was, after all offering a woman's purse to thin air. Feeling heavy
himself, Orlando dropped his arms to his side and heaved a sigh. He
had to stop doing this. 
	Opening the purse, Orlando sifted through receipts and cards,
expired cinema tickets and train passes. The purse was old and worn,
quite small and very light, made of black leather and held together by
countless rolls of sticky tape and a strategically placed safety pin.
He was looking for a form of identification primarily and secondly was
merely curious. Some spare change and a library card were tucked neatly
into the side pouch, with which was a small slip of paper. It was a
new piece of paper, white and crisp, folded smartly and inserted
carefully behind the library card. On it was written in a fleeting,
graceful hand 

Jamey Ebani.  
14a St. Stephen's Field
Meredith Road
Notting Hill
	
Orlando's chocolate eyes widened in disbelief. She lived in the same
block of flats as him! How could he have never noticed before? He knew
someone new had moved in, a matter of days ago, but he didn't see the
removal van or meet her in the stairwell. Elated and confused, Orlando
tried to decipher the rest of the information.
Jamey, he presumed, was her name. Jamey. Jamey. He liked that name on
a girl. Ebani. Foreign name, hence the accent? European? He couldn't
tell. 
'Hold on'. Orlando said to himself. He was assuming again, presumptions
lead to disappointment; he'd learnt that from experience. He was
assuming that the purse was hers, and assuming she had dropped it
there, assuming she lived in the flats, and assuming she was foreign.
Nevertheless, he couldn't help but be a little bit keyed up. 
Waking from his stunned and confused state, Orlando realised he was
still standing in the entrance to Tesco's, talking to himself and
getting excited about a woman's purse. The tobacconist was still
looking at him as though he was something she had trodden in. Her
thickly pencilled eyebrows arched in great suspicion and her bulky
load was rested against the kiosk. Disgust turned to enticement as
she stared at Orlando and winked at him in a 'come here you tasty
piece of meat' type way. Orlando hastily pocketed the purse and
hastily rushed away down the fruit and veg aisle. That was too much
to deal with.  
The whole of the past scenario had only lasted ninety seconds at the
most, but it felt like an entire eternity had just passed. 
So, after a fifteen minute round trip of Tesco's trying to remember
his mental shopping list (and failing), Orlando walked out with nine
tins of Pedigree Chum, a fruit pavlova and some toilet roll. Typical.



Chapter 4

	Returning home, Orlando walked along the deserted Notting Hill
street alone. Tall, white terraced houses arranged neatly in long rows,
each the same as the next; the usual black railings stapled three
quarters of the way up, with two bay trees framing the outsized black
doors made each as indistinct and bland as the next. The houses, Orlando
knew, were big. Entrance halls, en suites, studies, music rooms, cellars
and attics, all were contained within the well heeled shoeboxes.
Undoubtedly the houses were merely for show, each competing with the
next to see how superiorly they could hang their curtains, or how well
clipped the trees could be. But how superior were they inside? What went
on behind those analogous doors? Lying? Cheating? Infidelity? These
houses were just facades to the ordinary lives of underdogs going about
their daily business in about as much importance as one house to the
next. Never judge a book by its cover. It's true. 

                                * * *

	But Orlando didn't live in the aristocratic streets. No, he lived
in the Joe Bloggs areas - the flats in which the unashamed dwelled. Not
that his flat wasn't nice though, on the contrary. The reason he had
been able to afford it was inheritance from various family members,
otherwise he would still be slumming in Canterbury. Orlando was proud
of his flat - it was his. His identity, his space, his privacy,
something that he valued very highly…
	"Oi!"
	Orlando stopped walking, and his train of thought slipped away
beyond recapture. 'Oi?' Who said that? There was no-one else in the
street, so the impolite gesture must be directed at…
	"Oi! You're late!"
Orlando spun round, trying to locate the voices, but to no avail.
	"Orlandoooooooo!"
Looking up quickly, Orlando was able to place the names to the voices.
Hanging out of his kitchen window, Eliot, Jess and Andy were waving at
him frantically and, on the end of a broom were the novelty boxer
shorts they had given him for Christmas. Orlando's lips parted slightly
and he slowly sucked in air through his teeth. He was too used to this
to be angry. Looking down at his watch, he realised it was still
immobile and displayed 2.30, despite the fact that the sun was
beginning to set. 
	Picking up his pace, Orlando rolled his eyes and sighed. This
was going to be a heavy night, he just knew it. He wasn't even sure
he wanted to go out, but it didn't look like he had much choice. 
	There was no point in opening the security door, so Orlando
buzzed up to his own flat. That was weird. 
	"Helloooo? Marks and Spencer's lingerie department?"
	Orlando chuckled and replied to Eliot's telephone voice.
	"Let me in, bitch."
	"Alright bitch."
There was a loud buzz and the heavy door clicked open. 

                              * * *


	Entering his flat through the already open door, the smell of
burnt toast wafted out. Andy had been cooking.
	"Don't worry, I didn't use the brown crap."
Andy declared as Orlando walked in. 
	"The brown crap is, in fact bread. It's called healthy, mate.
Healthy food."
	"Whatever. Your clothes are on your bed and there's a drink for
you on the table. You've got fifteen minutes to get ready and then
we're going."
	"Yes ma'am. Do I have permission to feed my dog?"
	Andy nodded and tucked into a slice of toast heaped with Marmite.
Orlando looked at it and wrinkled his nose.
	"Don't know how you could eat that, it tastes of sewage."
	"Orli, it was in your kitchen."
	"Yes. In the cupboard labelled 'Andy's food'. You basically live
here anyway."
	"True, true."
Maude padded through from the lounge into the kitchen and nudged the
back of Orlando's knee with her nose. He looked down at the starving
dog and pouted.
	"Have I been neglecting you? Have you not eaten?"
	"Actually I have, but the beef gives me the squits. I prefer
chicken in gravy."
The dog looked at Orlando. Orlando looked at the dog. Jess stood in
the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding a can of dog food. 
	"Or tuna, I'm not fussy. How you feeling?"
Feeling about what? The audition. He hadn't given it a thought since
that meeting in Tesco's. And for that he was truly glad. 
	"Oh, yeah. Fine." 
Orlando dismissed the comment and bent down to feed the dog. Andy
signalled to Jess not to bring the subject up anymore. Orlando noticed
this - Andy wasn't exactly subtle, but he appreciated it all the same. 
	"Look, I'll do that, you go and get changed - you're late as it
is."
Jess playfully pushed Orlando out of the kitchen and carried on feeding
Maude. 
	"Ok, Ok, I'm going. Don't forget to put the crunchy stuff on
top."
Orlando nudged his thumb towards a cupboard under the sink and, picking
up his drink on the way, went to go and get changed. 
	Walking into his room, Orlando crossed to his CD player and put
on the radio. Andy was right - they'd laid out their choice of clothes
on the bed and even put a pair of trainers on the floor. He assessed
the selection of clothes and approved; a white long sleeved shirt and
his favourite Levi's. Worn, tattered, the stitching was coming undone
on the hem, but Orlando didn't care - they were comfort jeans. 
	Just as he was about to pull down his trousers he was already
wearing, Orlando leapt in the air and jumped onto the bed. As he
landed, there was a small squeal and the sound of scrabbling from
underneath.
	"Eliot, I'll give you five seconds to get out, or I'll do it
again."
He said, getting ready to bounce again. A pair of slim hands protruded
from the underneath of the bed, and pulled the rest of her body out
quickly. 
	"Ok, I'm here, I'm out, don't do it! It's just as well you have
a high up bed…"
Readjusting her hair in the mirror, Eliot giggled and turned around to
better view her best friend. Orlando and Eliot had known each other
since playschool and never knew anything different - they had grown
up two doors away from each other all their life, until they both went
to NYT and then onto Guildhall. They confided in each other about
anything and everything and never went a day without seeing each other.
They were like a married couple most of the time, and they both had
keys to the other's apartments. Eliot was Orlando's rock - she was
always there when he needed her for any reason. 
	Eliot changed her tune quickly though; she gave a sad smile and
hugged Orlando.
	"There'll be other auditions. Other chances. Don't let it get
you down."
Orlando wrapped his strong arms round Eliot's tiny figure and hugged
her back. 
	"I'm fine, really. Thank you."
Eliot pulled back, looked at him dubiously then ruffled his hair. 
	"You need a hair cut. Get changed."
Orlando smiled and put his hand to his forehead in an army salute.
His friends really were bossy. 
	"Good soldier, at ease."
She barked and marched out the room.



Chapter 5

CHAPTER 4


Orlando's room, like the rest of his apartment was spacious and
stylish. He had decorated it himself recently, plainly but
comfortably and had had built in wardrobes fitted (which he was
immensely proud of.) He had painted three walls a creamy white, and
the fourth a dark midnight blue which matched the night sky. The
double bed was draped with an indigo cover and the ceiling was dotted
with tiny spotlights that resembled stars when they were dimmed. Old
movie posters of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn were edged in thin
silver frames and hung at random intervals on the walls, accompanied
by odd pictures of his friends on various days out and drinking
sessions. 
It was in this room that Orlando now mentally prepared himself for
the evening and debated whether to tell his friends about that chance
meeting in Tesco's. After much deliberation, he decided not to, after
all, they'd probably rip it out of him for being so hung up about
bumping into a girl. The setting was hardly romantic, either. No, he
decided, keep it to yourself. 
He emerged ten minutes later washed, dressed and ready for the night
ahead, wearing, what he admitted later as being a very decent outfit.
Jess and Eliot were sat on the sofa laughing at Andy who was sat cross
legged on the floor with Maude. Maude was renowned as being a flirt
with the men, especially Andy, whom she adored. 
"Aaaaahh, has Andy Pandy got a girlfriend?!"
Asked Orlando in a mock baby voice. 
"Yeah, actually, we're getting married. You ready?"
The girls giggled and got up, finding their coats. Orlando nodded and
grabbed his jacket from the table, stuffing his phone and wallet in
the pocket. 
	"Does anyone know where Sam is? She's definitely coming, mind
you, she's always late…"
Eliot asked almost negligently, when the buzzer went. Orlando quickly
answered the bell
	"Hel-lo?"
	"C'mon, c'mon, hurry up!"
	"Alright, calm down, be there in a minute."
	"Think that answered your question then…"
He said to Eliot, before rounding everyone up. 
	"Maude, be good for me!"
Called Orlando and Andy simultaneously before closing the front door
behind them. 
	Sam was waiting outside on the wall for the others to arrive.
She had jammed her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket
and folded the coat about her tightly. Orlando couldn't blame her -
the autumn evening had turned rather cold, and as they stepped out,
their breath escaped in tiny clouds before them. The chill nipped at
their noses and pinched their cheeks as they set off for a ten minute
walk to JJ's bar. 
	Sam stepped into stride with Orlando as they walked along. 
	"Sorry I was a bit late, the rehearsal went on for aaaages.
How you feeling?"
	"I wish everyone would stop asking me that, I'm fine!"
	"You didn't sound it on the phone."
	"I'm surprised you could hear me over all that screeching. It
sounded like a form of Japanese water torture. I didn't know Whistle
Down the Wind could sound that bad!"
	"Oh, I know! He was awful, wasn't he!"
	"He? It was a he?"
Sam giggled and grabbed her brother's hand in a 'you'll-survive-keep-
your-chin-up' type grasp. Orlando smiled sincerely and thanked her for
her concern, but insisted that he really was fine and just wanted to
enjoy the evening. 
	As the group descended upon the busy London streets, Orlando
felt happier and slightly more contented (even if he did dread tomorrow
mornings hangover…)

                                 * * *

	JJ's was, by day, a typical American diner, serving every type
of burger, milkshake and hotdog imaginable. It had the unique silver
chairs, red white and blue decoration and authentic US jukebox. By
night, however, it was transformed with the opening of the upstairs
level, which couldn't be more different. JJ's showcased all kinds of
art from all kinds of people; photography, paintings, sculptures,
pastels and prints adorned the walls of the huge bar which attracted
more people than a naked wrestling match. Dark blue walls, silver
chairs, fairy lights and a more than versatile bar completed the place
that had become Orlando's favourite.
	Walking through those doors lifted his spirits alone - he'd
leave his troubles outside and pick them up later. Tonight, he was
going to be cheered up whether he wanted to or not…



Chapter 6

Orlando had perfected the art of crashing home at an ungodly hour -
the skill had been honed to excellence, and he certainly did it in
style. 
	After leaving JJ's at around half one in the morning, the somewhat
canned group headed to a club so trendy it didn't have a name. There
they stayed for approximately enough time to become even more inebriated
(which took around twenty minutes) and went on a large club crawl before
parting ways at two thirty. 
	Eliot had accompanied Orlando home part way (as she lived on the
adjacent road) after many a drinking session before, and tonight was no
exception. Giggling like schoolgirls, they stumbled arm in arm along the
deserted streets, dancing in and out of the hazy light provided by the
street lamps. They reached Eliot's apartment before Orlando's, so she
left him to walk the last part alone after she emptied the contents of
her stomach into a drain on the north corner. It was widely known that
Eliot couldn't take her drink as well as the others, and frequented the
same drain on a regular basis. 
	When she'd finished (clumsily) vomiting on the street corner,
Orlando gave her a piggyback up the stone steps to her flat, then slid
down the iron handrail after stubbing his toe on the door. 
	The autumn air had unsurprisingly got colder in the early hours,
forcing Orlando to pull his jacket closer around himself and rush home
somewhat quicker than usual. Approaching the security door, Orlando
reached into his deep pockets to find his keys. It took a few minutes
to realise that he'd lost them, another few minutes to search for them
regardless, and another few minutes for him to start swearing.
	"Where the f…Bloody hell, it's cold…oh f…"
Fifteen minutes of drunken fumbling and a whole dictionary of
obscenities later, Orlando realised that he had, in fact, hidden the
key under the flowerpot before they left so that he wouldn't forget
them later. Despite this fact, it still took him a good few minutes
to locate the keyhole and recall which way to turn the key.
	Entering his apartment at near three in the morning, Orlando
chucked the bunch of keys, his mobile and (now empty) wallet onto the
telephone table and slowly staggered into the kitchen. Maude lifted her
head lazily and looked at him in a disgusted way, at his present
intoxicated state.
	"I know, I know. This is the last time. Last time."
Admittedly, Orlando had been staggering home a lot lately. This had to
stop. He brought his hands up to rub his eyes, and sighed.
	"This is bad. Very bad. You're talking to the dog. Even worse,
you're talking to yourself. "  
	In truth, the purpose of the evening had succeeded - he hadn't
thought about the audition all day. Whether this was due to the alcohol
or a certain woman he'd met earlier, Orlando didn't care. He smiled in
spite of himself at the memory of that meeting, the small secret he
kept within.
	In an attempt to stop the room spinning, Orlando made himself a
cup of coffee (without much care, resulting in a scalded finger and
burnt thumb) and slumped on the leather sofa in front of his TV. There
was a loud rumbling from upstairs resembling someone running across
the corridor. Someone heavy - it sounded like a heard of elephants.
Over weight elephants. With boots on. Very loud rumbling indeed…
Christ, he was falling asleep already.
	Thinking nothing more of the loud noise, Orlando wobbled into
his kitchen to compile his rescue kit for the morning. Bottle of
water, Alker-Seltzer, bucket (optional, not essential) - all
ingredients for a less horrific morning. Even though he felt
utterly inebriated, it was these rituals that prevented him from
insanity. He knew how horrendous he would feel, and he'd do
everything in his power to stop that feeling, hence the kit. Tucking
it all under his arm, Orlando headed off for bed - he'd only just
begun to realise how tired he was and he just wanted to curl up and
sleep. 
	He dumped everything by the side of his bed and slipped out of
his clothes, also left in a pile on his floor. "The next time that
bed comes round, I'm jumping on it," he thought to himself as the
whole room began to swim again (partly through tiredness, mostly
through his extreme alcohol consumption). He turned on the TV and put
it on low whilst he climbed into bed, enjoying the smooth clean sheets
he'd replaced earlier that day. They still smelt of washing powder -
clean and fresh. Settling back into his pillows, Orlando threw a quick
glance at his alarm clock. 3.24am. Too…late? Early? Either way, it was
an extreme. Tucking his arms behind his head, he tried to pay attention
to the black and white movie that was flashing around on the screen,
but he was so tired…



Chapter 7

Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Thump thump. Long pause. Thump thump thump
bang thump bang thump…
	Orlando opened his eyes wearily as his head played drums in his
skull. Turning over tiredly, his bleary eyes clocked the time. 3.58am.
Was that it? 34 minutes sleep? Seemed like much longer…The TV was still
on, this time showing a re-run of Whose Line Is It Anyway? Lying in
disturbed and erratic silence, it took a few moments for Orlando to
realise that the thumping wasn't emanating from his head. It was coming
from…he didn't know, but it was definitely getting louder. Propping
himself upright (and then regretting moving so quickly), Orlando
concentrated his hearing on the banging that was now getting even
louder and more frequent. 
	Pushing the sheets off, he crept out of bed and pulled on his
grey t-shirt and trackie bottoms and began to check his apartment for
any sign of…anything. It was only when the shouting started that he
realised that the noise was coming from upstairs on the next floor. 
	"Open the door! Get out here now…I'm warning you…"
It was a man's voice; harsh and abrasive and very, very angry. Orlando
kicked on his trainers that were left in an untidy pile by the front
door, and, for some unknown reason (for which Orlando would later be
thankful) he grabbed his baseball bat and opened the front door. No
one else seemed to be able to hear the noise - all the other doors
were locked and bolted, with not a sound of anyone stirring. He didn't
know what to do - it sounded as though someone was in trouble, and he
couldn't just let whatever was going on continue, especially if someone
was going to get hurt. Orlando hesitated at the bottom of the stairs
for a moment, then began to ascend them slowly, careful not to make
any noise. 
The shouting got worse as Orlando crept up the lavishly carpeted stairs,
and was spurred on by the loud crash that accompanied the shouting.
Orlando felt like an engine running on a mixture of adrenaline, alcohol
and courage (or was it sheer stupidity?) Not knowing what he was going
to find was only half the problem - what he would do when confronted
with it was another matter. 
Reaching the top of the stairs, the view that greeted him made Orlando's
stomach lurch. The door to apartment 14a was open and in the doorway
stood a heavily built man who appeared to take up the entire hall. He
was tall, very tall, around six and a half feet and was shouting
obscenities at someone Orlando couldn't quite see. The woman was stood
in the doorway, giving as good as she got, but she was no match for his
physical strength. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the wall,
lowering his voice and breathing right into her face. She was screaming
for help, but the man just held tighter. Tightening his grip on the
baseball bat, Orlando gritted his teeth and shouted. 
"What the fuck are you doing? Let her go!"
He still couldn't see the woman, but her screaming had diminished to
whimpers. Orlando strode up to the guy who seemed to be getting angrier
by the minute. The woman seemed to sense something foreboding and
started talking quickly and loudly 
	"No, Ewan, don't do it, leave him, please, don't do anything…"
	"Shut UP!"
	The man yelled, and thrust the woman into her apartment. She must
have hit something, because there was a crash and the sound of broken
glass. Orlando didn't feel scared at all, far from it. No, he was
absolutely petrified. Luckily, the alcohol seemed to have blunted his
reason and he carried on walking towards the burly guy in the hall. 
	"Get out of here, now"
	"And are you going to make me?"
Good question, thought Orlando. Do what Andy told you, don't be scared
about it, just do it…
	"No, but the police will."
He said, his voice shaking. The guy's eyes narrowed and he stepped
closer to Orlando, his putrid hot breath seeping over his face. He'd
also been drinking. Heavily. 
	"What did you just say?"
	"I said the police will. I called them when I heard the noise,
which means they'll be here in about 2 minutes. Now I suggest you fuck
off before I make you."
He said, drawing the bat up to his side. The man sneered maliciously
and placed his heavy hands on Orlando's slim shoulders, and, pushing
hard, he shoved Orlando violently against the wall. His shoulders
smacked painfully against the wall, and a swift wave of agony pulsed
through his every bone. Orlando felt as though he'd been hit by a truck
as his knees gave way, leaving him slumped on the floor. The guy swept
past him and descended the steps, anxious to go before the police
arrived.
	"Just do what Andy told you…lie." It worked. For once, Andy was
right. In hindsight, Orlando didn't know whether the fact that he was
drunk out of his mind in any way dulled the immense rush of pain through
him, but at that precise moment he didn't really care as he was forced
to sober up very quickly. Pushing himself up from the floor, wheezing
agonizingly, he dragged himself through the open door and into the
apartment. The woman was laid face down amongst scattered flowers and
broken glass. It must have been a vase he heard break, as the pine
floor was glistening with a silvery sheen of water. Orlando bent down
and carefully turned the woman over, cautious to not hurt her further.
As he brought her up slightly, he moved his hand to see it was covered
in blood. The woman had a small but deep cut above her left eyebrow
and a cut on the back of her neck, both of which were bleeding
profusely. However, she was conscious. Just. Pushing her dark hair
away from the woman's face, a realisation hit Orlando harder than
the blow against the wall. He knew this woman.



Chapter 8

	It was her. It was Jamey. Orlando was stunned- never for a moment
did he think it was her being attacked. Thank God she was still awake -
a blow to the head like that could send someone into coma for who knows
how long. As he turned Jamey over, she started crying, her breath coming
in panicky gasps as she struggled to sit up. 
	"Is he gone? Where is he? Is he gone?"
Orlando could feel her slim body tensing in his arms, intense fear
gripping her every muscle. 
	"Hey, hey, ssh, he's not here, he's gone." 
Jamey bought her hand up to her forehead as her face creased in fresh
tears. 
	"Oh God, oh God, no…" 
Now is not the time for getting hysterical, thought Orlando as Jamey
began crying uncontrollably. 
	"I think we ought to get you to hospital"
He said for his own benefit more than hers. Grimacing, Orlando pulled
himself and Jamey to their feet, despite the agonising throbbing in his
back and neck. She obviously noticed his pained expression, which sent
her into more hysterical sobbing, making Orlando's job of helping her
much harder. 
	"He got you, he got you too…What did he do to you?"
Jamey wrenched herself from his grasp and knelt down in front of him,
oblivious to the wounds to her forehead and neck. She brought her hands
up to his arms and started feeling for any sign of damage. Despite his
still inebriated and panicked state, even Orlando found this surreal.
Jamey looked right into his eyes, desperately searching for something he
couldn't tell. Tears spilled over her dark lashes, running quickly down
her pale face. She was still trembling uncontrollably - the shock of what
had happened seemed to have seriously affected her. 
	Surveying the cut on her head, Orlando ripped off the sleeve of his
grey shirt and pressed it to her forehead in a feeble attempt to stop the
bleeding. Trying to calm her down, he tried talking to her, to stop her
panicking so much. However, Jamey protested through tears that she wanted
to go home. Racking his brains for an answer to this awkward situation,
he scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her out of the apartment.
Seeing the blood on the shirt sleeve, Jamey panicked again and put her
left hand to her forehead. Orlando watched her take her hand away and
glimpse the blood staining her long fingers. That was the last thing she
saw before she passed out.



Chapter 9

	Orlando awoke to the sound of metal clanking, trolleys rolling by
and someone lightly shaking his shoulders. Opening his eyes slowly, he
couldn't remember where he was or why. It was only when the woman shaking
him introduced herself that he realised he was laid on an uncomfortable
bed in the middle of a hospital corridor. The woman was middle aged, but
kindly looking, plump and smelling of antiseptic. Heavy blue eyeliner
framed her small, piggy eyes and was magnified by thick, gold glasses.
Her stocky arms were outstretched and grasped his shoulders loosely,
which caused more pain than she knew.
	"Excuse me, Mr. Bloom? Jamey's awake now."
Orlando sat up slowly, his neck and shoulders aching painfully and his
head throbbing even harder. It took a few moments for him to remember why
he was in this strange, unwelcoming place smelling of TCP and stale urine.
And then it all came flooding back - the fight, Jamey, her passing out and
the injury he sustained. All this woke him up immediately, and brought him
round to what was happening.
	"Jamey, how is she?"
He asked lethargically, rubbing his dark eyes.
	"Oh, she's fine, she'll have some slight bruising but there are no
serious injuries or fractures, and she's had some stitches to her forehead,
but apart from that, she's just tired. It's quite an ordeal she went
through though, have you considered legal action? I mean, it's obviously
not the first time this has happened…Ooh, which reminds me, you might want
some painkillers too, I don't think you came out of this unharmed, either.
I'll put your prescription in with triage nurse, just pick it up on the
way out." 
And with that, Janet, the plump nurse waddled off with a stained bandage
in her thick hands. Orlando leant back on the trolley for a moment then
scanned the whitewash walls for a clock - he didn't know what day, never
mind what time it was. A large white clock was hung above the doorway,
displaying the time 6.00. Was that am or pm, Orlando wondered. He stopped
a passing nurse and found out that it was, in fact 6.oopm, the day after
the night before. It was 6pm, on Thursday, the twenty second of October
and he was sat in a hospital after being beaten up by a seven-foot gorilla.
Fantastic. Now that he had ascertained the date, time , and most
importantly, place (Guy's Hospital, London), he slid off the trolley and
searched for Jamey's bed.

                                 * * *

	"Hey…How are you feeling?" 
	"Oh, erm…fine, thank you. A bit sore, but I'll live." 
Awkward silence. Orlando surveyed her. Big melonin plaster. Slight
bruising to cheek and left eyebrow. Hair left loose, slightly straggly.
	"Oh, I'm so sor…Orlando. Orlando Bloom."
Orlando stiffly offered a hand to Jamey apologetically, as if the first
rule of conduct in a hospital wing is to introduce yourself. 
Jamey smiled and offered her own hand.
	"Jamey. Jamey-"
	"Ebani."
He finished. 
	"How do you…hold on."
Jamey paused and frowned, confused. 
	"I know you…you…you stole my purse!"
She raised her voice angrily, then grimaced form the effort of volume.
	"Oh, no, no, oh no…"
Orlando began, but he was interrupted.
	"Yes, in Tesco's, you…stole…my…"
She crawled forward in her bed and started grappling at his pockets,
searching for the purse he had 'stolen'. Suspicious nurses walked past,
eyeing the action carefully, with Orlando rolling his eyes in a 'typical
woman-what-do-you-do-with-her' type glance.
He stepped back abruptly and left her sat on the bed, crouched angrily
like a sulking child.
	"Woah there…let me explain. OK, at Tesco's, yes, we bumped into
each other…"
	"And you stole my purse, I want it back, now…"
	"No, no, no, stop! You dropped your purse. And some bananas. I
picked them up because you left and I found out your name by looking
for some identification to return it to."
Orlando spoke slowly so as not to anger her further, as though it might
be the worst mistake of his life. He dropped his hands in front of him,
outstretched as if to protest his innocence. His coffee coloured eyes
widened, trying to persuade her. Orlando suddenly remembered that he
had the same jacket on from the night before, so pulled out the bananas
and the purse and put them on the edge of the bed, then stepped away. 
Jamey's eyes softened as she leant forward to search the alleged purse,
then she knelt down again and put her head in her hands. 
	"I'm so, so sorry. I thought you'd…"
Orlando smiled and scratched the back of his neck then sat down next to
the purse and bananas and the edge of the bed. 
	"Lets start again."
	"Lets."
	"I'm Orlando Bloom. Hero, rescuer, purse-picker-upper and all
round good guy."
	"I'm Jamey Ebani. Purse-loser, damsel in distress, jumper-to-
conclusions and hospital patient."
They both smiled and rolled their eyes at their stupidity. Jamey's
smile quickly turned to a frown though.
	"How are you? The nurse said you were sleeping outside and that
you had some injuries? I'm so sorry for whatever happened, I can't
remember much, nurse said slight amnesia was inevitable, after a knock
on the head and the passing out, it's hard to…to…"
Her head started lolling and Jamey started blinking heavily.
	"Are, you…are you ok? Jamey?"
	"Mmm, oh, just a bit dizzy…"
Orlando passed her a glass of water from the bedside table and watched
her sip the cool liquid. He gave her a few moments to compose herself,
then spoke again.
	"Is that supposed to happen?"
Jamey laughed softly and leant back in bed.
	"Yeah, the nurse said dizziness and tiredness were all part and
parcel of being beat…of having a blow to the head."
Orlando watched her intensely, as she corrected herself for his sake.
It was as though she didn't want to admit to being a victim.
	"I know what happened, Jamey. I saw it all."
	"You, you did? Right."
She quickly averted her eyes to the ground and kept them there, ashamed
or scared to look at him.
	"Don't be ashamed, it's not your fault. Has…has it happened before?" 
Orlando tentatively crept along the bed so he could be closer to her, so
he could hear her. She bowed her head and nodded it. From underneath dark
curtains of hair, Orlando saw a single tear fall onto the starched bed
sheets.



Chapter 10

	"And next on This Morning, ten ways to shift ten pounds, from the
cabbage diet to electrolysis…"
	"A nice model, a little on the sharp side and the suspension can
be a problem on very steep hills, but apart from that, the Mazda scores
highly in my books…"
	"Add the milk and stir until smooth, then once that's done, pour
it into the greased tray, making sure it's nice and level…"
	"I hate daytime TV"
Muttered Orlando, out loud, as he took another sip of his coffee. Black,
no sugar - strong and rich. It was 12.30pm and he was sat on his settee
with Maude on his lap, drinking coffee and watching daytime TV. Chat
shows, car reviews, cookery programmes…all so boring! He was supposed
to be learning his lines for a re-call (yes, a re-call…shock, horror),
but he had heard Jamey stirring and wanted to stay alert in case she
needed anything. 
He felt split with Jamey. Was he a friend? Was he a father figure? He 
felt like one - he went to check on her more often than necessary and was
listening out for her a like she was a baby. 
	Trying to push all this to one side, he drank the last of his coffee
and nudged the dog off his lap. Orlando, yawning widely, strode into the
kitchen to rinse his mug and do the washing up. He was in a slob mood
today - grey t-shirt, black jogging trousers and messy hair. He'd clean
himself up later…
	"Morning."
Orlando looked up from his washing duties to see Jamey standing in the 
doorway. She was wearing one of his blue shirts and a pair of shorts and
her dark hair was roughly plaited into a braid at the side of her head,
with small, straggly strands dropping gracefully to her shoulders. Pulling
at the shirt, she said 
	"Hope you don't mind, I didn't have anything else."
Orlando shook his head with a smile.
	"Not at all. How you feeling?"
Jamey gave a so-so expression and wrinkled her nose. 
	"I'm ok, what about you, your shoulders?"
	"Stiff. I'll live."
There was a moment, an ange passé. They looked at each other, took each
other in; in their full, rough morning glory. Suddenly, Orlando felt
ashamed of his appearance and his complete lack of charm. Mornings really
weren't his forte, yet here he was in worn jogging bottoms with ripped seams
and a t-shirt so old it you could tell his age by how many stains there 
were painted on it.  
Reflecting, he couldn't tell what he felt and why in this moment, but
something changed inside him, words to describe it couldn't come near, so
he left it to his heart.
	Physically shaking himself from this lock between them, he put down
the mug he was holding and spoke.
	"Now, enough of this morning crap. I think you need breakfast. When
was the last time you ate?"
Jamey sighed and touched her eyebrow gingerly, before reclining and grimacing
at the pain she had self-inflicted. There was also a dressing on the back of
her neck, a plaster the size of Wales covering the underneath of her hair.
The covering on her forehead, above her eyebrow was smaller but more padded
and needed changing as the corners were peeling away. 
	"I honestly can't remember."
	"Well, ok, how about raspberry and crčme fraiche muesli, wholemeal
toast and a glass of…wait for it…freshly squeezed orange?!" 
Jamey laughed out loud and smiled broadly. 
	"That would be lovely, thank you."
Orlando nodded proudly, pleased at having made the right breakfast decision. 
Jamey pulled up a tall stool at the breakfast counter next to where Orlando
compiled the morning's specialities and watched him contently. 
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she spoke, her delicate voice
carefully choosing the words she were to use.
	"Orlando?"
	"Hmmm?" 
	"You know…I want to say thank you."
Orlando looked up and raised his eyebrows.
	"That's…ok."
	"No, really. You've done so much for me so selflessly and we don't
even know each other!"
Her grey eyes sparkled despite the bruising that blossomed on her forehead
as she smiled widely at him. Her smile was so beautiful, so warm that
Orlando couldn't help stop and admire for a moment her beauty. It made her
cheeks blush a pale pink and her eyes grow lighter, as though reflecting
the light of the moon. 
He was getting too hung up on her, and he knew it. 
	Dragging himself away from watching her, Orlando bent down to the
fridge and concealed himself behind the heavy white doors. He felt his own
cheeks flush now, overwhelmed by the situation he was in; he was preparing
breakfast for a stunning woman whom he didn't even know, as she had pointed
out. 
Pulling out the tub of crčme fraiche, he felt a sudden surge of bravery
pulse through him. 
	"Well what would you like to know?"
He had a mischievous grin plastered over his face and he felt like a five
year old chasing girls through the playground. 
	"I'm sorry?"
Jamey creased her nose in what Orlando could only determine as confusion.
	"You said we don't know each other, so lets find out. What would you
like to know?"
	"Ok, erm. How old are you?"
	"Twenty Two. And a bit. The bit's very important."
He declared proudly and plopped a handful of raspberries onto the bowl of
muesli he was preparing. With a flourish, he placed the breakfast in front
of her and bowed formally. 
	"Et voila! A masterpiece!" 
	"Thank you very much."
She said politely and began eating. A soft padding was heard as Maude
entered the kitchen, disgusted at not being fed first.
	"Ah - you don't mind dogs, do you?"
This could present a problem. However, Jamey shook her head emphatically
as she hungrily ate her food.
	"Not at all - I love them. My brother used to have a bulldog called
Maisie…"
Orlando unsuccessfully stifled a laugh.
	"Oh, I know, what a name, but she was gorgeous. Some people can't
stand them, my Mum used to think Maisie was ugly, but everything has it's
own beauty - you just have to find it."
He was enthralled by her again. She had such faith in life, such energy,
nothing could destroy that. She was a world away from the victimised 
Jamey he met the other night…
	



Chapter 11

	"Orlando?"
He had been daydreaming. 
	"Yes, sorry. Agree, totally."
And he did. He just couldn't articulate right at this moment.
	"How's the breakfast?"
	"Really, really good. You're a genius!"
Orlando suddenly felt very embarrassed again and felt the need to
run and hide in the fridge. He would have done if the dog wasn't
sat on his feet.
	"I think she was wants feeding. What's her name?"
	"Maude."
It was Jamey's turn to giggle this time.
	"Maude? That's…unusual. Different."
	"Not as unusual as Maisie on a bulldog."
Orlando joked as he kicked the dog off his feet and started to
feed her. 
	"Right, I'm done."
Jamey declared as she dropped her spoon into the empty bowl in
front of her. 
	"Now where were we? Oh yes, your name's Orlando…Bloom?"
	"Uhuh."
	"And you're twenty five."
	"Corrrrect"
	"And how do you earn a living, Mr. Bloom?"
Orlando didn't know how to answer this without being typecast.
	"Well, I'm an actor."
	"Really? Wow. In what?"
She wasn't the person to typecast, obviously.
	"A bit of everything, really. I've done TV, done a little
bit of film, but my passion, I mean real passion, is theatre."
	"I love theatre! What have you been in? Have you done any
Shakespeare?"
	"I don't know what else I'm supposed to know. There are
questions that I have to wait until I've known you for longer to
ask. That's the way it works."
	"Like what?"
	"Well if I ask then it'll kinda defeat the purpose of
waiting!"
	"Don't wait then."
He said plainly, looking her straight in the eye. Jamey smiled
back curiously, unafraid by his suddenness. 
	"Ok. Are you single?"
For some reason Orlando couldn't define, his heart skipped a beat
at this moment. He stood up and put the dog bowl down on the floor
as Maude strolled over.
	"Yes. Young…ish. Free…to a point. And single."
	"Really?"
Jamey asked, her voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. 
	"No, I'm lying, I'm married."
Orlando replied sarcastically as he effortlessly pulled himself
onto the worktop.
	"Oh, I just…I didn't mean… I just find it hard to believe
that someone as good looking and nice as you hasn't been snapped
up already."
Orlando didn't know whether to take this as a compliment or not.
Nevertheless he blushed. 
	"I know, it's a travesty."
He replied, placing his hand across his forehead in a 'woe-is-me'
stance. 
	"I just haven't found anyone at the moment. That's all."
Orlando said simply. Jamey slid her eyes to the table and sighed. 
	"What time is it?"
She asked.
	"Uh…10.56 and 24 seconds"
	"I suppose I should…"
She jerked her thumb to the ceiling, indicating her own apartment. 
	"Oh. You don't have to."
Jamey looked puzzled as Orlando tried to recover himself.
	"What I mean is, don't feel as though you have to leave on
my behalf."
	"But this is your apartment…"
She said slowly, deliberately.
	"Oh, no, not in that…if you don't feel ready to, you know,
go and start, whatever, at your place, cos you can stay here as
long as you need. Want. Like."
Orlando sighed at his own inability to construct a sentence. 
	"This place is yours until you feel ready to sort out
your…stuff."
He said plainly, frankly. 
Jamey looked utterly relieved, as though the weigh of the world
had been lifted off her shoulders. 	
"Really? Oh, thank you so much. I didn't want to say anything,
but you know, he might…"
She trailed off, once again returning her eyes to the work
surface and concentrating hard on her bowl. 
	"He being your boyfriend?"
	"Ex. Ex boyfriend."
Orlando's heart leaped. 
	"Ex. Oh. I'm sorry."
	"Don't be. He's a bastard."
	"I must admit, I didn't find him the most pleasant
gentleman in the world.
Jamey agreed and rolled her eyes. There was a slight pause
between them as Orlando wondered whether the subject was up
for discussion.
	"Do you want to talk about it?"
He said, shuffling his weight on the worktop so he could face 
her. 
	"What is there to talk about? We broke up, he didn't want
to, now he doesn't seem to get the message we're…finished, and
he won't…he won't…"
Jamey's voice turned thick with tears and her words faltered.
She bought her hands up to her eyes and wiped away the tears
that began to fall. Orlando jumped off the worktop and grabbed
a Kleenex, the only offering he could think of that would console
her. 
	"Hey, hey…ssh, I'm having none of that in my apartment, 
thank you very much."
Orlando gave her the tissue as she sniffed a laugh and blew her
nose. 
	"I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this."
	"Don't apologise, I cry all the time."
He said sincerely.
	"Really?"
Jamey bought her head up to look at him. He nodded and sighed.
	"It just gets to me, you know, when they leave and
they're parted and then he gets caught by the scientists…E.T
always gets me going."
She laughed this time, and tried to dispel her sadness. 
	"No really though, he just needs time. From what you've
told me, he's just a bit raw, needs time to adjust to the change
and then he'll leave you alone."
Jamey listened intently and nodded. Orlando lowered his voice
slightly, as though there were others who could overhear. 
	"The other night…you said he'd been violent before."
She nodded and slowly started to speak, trying not to cry.
	"That wasn't the first time. It's never been serious though,
not like some. He's never left me with anything to prove - he's
clever when it comes to that. No scars, no lumps. Although I
caught him out once."
Orlando raised his eyebrows, curious with her.
"He threw a glass at me. It missed, but smashed on the wall next
to me. A piece of glass got caught in the top of my arm…"
At this point, Jamey pulled the left collar of the shirt she was
wearing down to reveal her bare shoulder with a scar on it. Small,
but significant. Her voice changed too, she became quieter, weaker
and she placed her hands between her thighs and bowed her head. 
	"Earlier, a couple of weeks before, a friend told me that if
I could prove what harm he was doing to me, then I could get a
restraining order… So I picked out the glass but didn't put a
plaster on it or get stitches. I didn't let it heal. I irritated
it by, quite literally, rubbing salt into the wound…so it left a
scar. Evidence. Backup."
Jamey ran her finger over the scar gently, then tugged the shirt
and slid it back over her shoulder. Orlando was astounded. She
had endured so much, and had resorted to pain to get herself out
of a violent relationship. But she was brave, and clever. But one
thing was nagging at him.
	"Why didn't you just leave him? Walk away, move out?"
	"You don't think I didn't try? But I didn't have anywhere
to go. I couldn't move away because I had a an exhibition at the
Tate and I couldn't abandon it, I'd worked so hard…"
Orlando nodded and sat on the stool next to her tentatively, as if
not wanting to disturb her recollection.
	"And I couldn't move into any of my friend's houses, because
Ewan, that's my ex, knew here I'd be. I didn't have enough money to
buy myself somewhere so I had to stick it out. He drove me to that."
She pointed to the scar under the light blue shirt. Orlando watched
her assiduously, caught up with her, in her…
	"So did you both live together upstairs?"
Jamey shook her head and turned to face him.
	"No, we lived in the better end of Holloway. As soon as I got 
paid from the exhibition, I collated that money with all my
savings, took out a small loan and moved upstairs….Huh, I moved
most of my things out when he was at work one day, did it all behind
his back…God knows how he found me…"
	"But, he doesn't know you're here now, does he?"
A small smile formed on her lips that broke into a grin. 
	"No. He doesn't."
	"So…maybe it's better that you stay here for a while then,
until he gets bored and crawls back into his…shell. Thing. Whatever."
Jamey smirked at his bad choice of imagery. 
	"Thank you, Orlando"
	"Just call me Orli. Sounds less prescribed."
	"Orli."



Chapter 12

	So, Jamey moved in. It really was as simple as that. A matter
of days was all she needed to insert herself into Orlando's life, and
she blended in as though she had always lived there. All her things
went into the spare room that was now termed 'Jamey's room' and that's
where they stayed, for she was surprisingly tidy. Despite the masses of
foreign brown boxes that seemed to accumulate in his hallway, Orlando
enjoyed having Jamey there. He got to know very quickly, however, that
Jamey had certain strange quirks that made her…her.

The first being that she hung a small wind chime in each room, sometimes
where you couldn't even see it. She made space on Orlando's bookcase for
her own books - arts, poetry, novels, all battered and dog-eared despite
her immaculate tidiness. The old bookshelf was already fit to burst with
Orlando's own collection of Shakespeare, Keats and Marlowe plays, plus
all the poetry he read for auditions and with Jamey's superfluities, he
had to support one shelf with steel brackets.

The bathroom became full of small shells, bottles of brightly coloured
liquids (half of which Orlando suspected to be toxic) and little boxes
of bath balls and pearls that went everywhere if knocked out of place,
as Orlando found out on more than one occasion. 
The odd painting was hung on a bare wall, of which Orlando was glad -
it made the place look snug. In a corner of the room, by the long, floor
length windows rested Jamey's painting kit. It consisted of a large
(maybe 5 foot?) easel on which normally leaned a huge canvas, and two
pine boxes on a small table on the floor, which held all her paints,
brushes, sponges and palettes. Orlando could spend hours watching Jamey
paint. She was so passionate about what she did; you could see that in
her eyes. When she painted, she would sing softly to herself, old jazz
songs of the greats, like Aretha Franklin and Frank Sinatra. That was
where Orlando felt comfortable. Sat at the table opposite her, working
on a script or monologue and listening to her sing whilst creating the
most wild and images from mere memory. It was like she was inventing
stories with colours that expressed her thoughts and feelings. If she
was angry, she would paint. If she was happy, she would paint. She could
produce masterpieces based on a yoghurt pot. That's what Orlando admired
about her.  

                                 * * *

Orlando was enchanted with every aspect of Jamey. Not just by appearance,
which made quite a change for him, but in her character, her mannerisms,
her habits and her personality. He loved the way she was confident but
never brash and without being pretentious, the fact that she knew what
he was thinking without even needing to ask and that she was always so
relaxed. He loved the way that she didn't care what other people thought
of her, but without being careless or ignorant. He loved the way she was
always there, for any reason, no matter what he needed and that she
laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones. He loved the way she
could cheer him up and speak fluent Italian with an Irish accent. He
adored the little things about her, the things no one else knew about,
like the way she sings in the shower and thinks no one hears, the way
she dances when she thinks he's not watching and the way she has to
tiptoe to reach the top cupboards. The things that make Jamey, Jamey,
were the aspects he fell in love with - like the way she cried at old
movies, and the way she was shameless in her love of old things, like
antiques and books and clothes. He even loved the way she wore two thumb
rings on each thumb, but no others, and the way she wore her socks
inside out 'for good luck'. He came to love the smell that she left when
she wasn't in the room, of honeysuckle shampoo and fresh cotton. He also
loved the way she got on so well with his friends…

                                 * * *


	"Jamey, this is Andy, Andy, this is Jamey."	
Orlando announced proudly.
	"Pleased to meet you, Andy. I've heard a lot about you."
	"Likewise."
He threw a sidelong glance at Orlando.
 "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…?"
	"Ebani. Jamey Ebani."
	"Well, Miss Ebani, you've taken on a huge responsibility by living
with Orli here, you do realise that he…"
	"Jamey!"
Orlando interrupted Andy in before he charged into full swing and ruined
his own reputation. 
 "This is Jess, Eliot and Sam, my sister."
	"Oh, Sam, I remember. Hi, I'm Jamey."
The three girls all smiled and introduced themselves as though they'd
known each other for years.
	Phew. 'That went well' thought Orlando. In truth, he had been
dreading introducing Jamey to everyone. There were so many things that
could go wrong. One, they could hate her, two, she could hate them, three,
they could really really degrade him in front of her…the list was endless.
But, thank God, it didn't come to that. They got on so well it was like
they'd been friends for a lot longer than five minutes. 
	This had all been carefully planned for a Friday evening a couple
of months  after Jamey had moved in and settled down. Orlando and Jamey
had become inseparably close over this short period of time, and he decided
that updating all his friends on the phone about Jamey was getting boring and
costly, so it came that they would all have a proper introduction over dinner
at Orlando's place. Jamey, being the perfect woman she was, offered to cook
for the six of them. Orlando, Eliot, Jess and Jamey (much to Orlando's
surprise and delight) were vegetarians, so she concocted a delicious
traditional Italian pasta meal, to be washed down with a bottle of Valpolicella
red wine and mango sorbet for dessert.
	Orlando's idea of keeping the evening casual yet sophisticated was kindly
put aside by Jamey who came up with the conventional idea of a large, circular
table by the floor length windows. She decorated it with a clean, white
tablecloth and crystal glasses and served the food from a huge porcelain pasta
bowl in the middle. 
	("It reminds me of Italy, at the big family gatherings we used to have,
with about ten different dishes in the middle, and everyone feeding themselves.
It was wonderful…")

The meal itself went even better than the introductions. Orlando was honestly 
surprised at how well Jamey and the girls got on. Jess and Eliot could tend
to have a rather… 'critical' streak, and Orlando feared that perhaps Jamey
wouldn't be very welcome in their little clique. He couldn't be further from
the truth. They talked, giggled and laughed through the evening, with Andy
and Orlando occasionally allowed to participate in the conversation. 
Jamey entertained them all with her ability to speak Irish-Italian and Jess
'entertained' Jamey by dislocating all the fingers in her left hand. As it
was beautifully dark outside, Orlando fished out some white candles to use
and placed them round the table and on the bookcases, creating a small warm 
glow.

Jamey faced up to the dodgy questions with the amazing humour ("No, Orli
doesn't leave the loo seat up, although the wet towels on the bathroom
floor are a problem…") and confidence that became her trademark.
However, it wasn't just her amusing anecdotes that kept Orlando riveted
to her all evening, it was the way she fitted in so perfectly. She could
get on with anyone, anywhere despite their race, creed, religion and she
wouldn't hold any judgements. She was one of those people who would start
talking to you on the tube even if you'd never met her before, or would
strike up a conversation in a library if it wasn't forbidden. She looked
beautiful, too. She wore a fitted black shirt with ruffles round the cuffs
and a pair of dark blue jeans that dragged slightly on the floor. Her ebony 
hair was let down and curly, the small ringlets framing her face and
shoulders, somehow making her look taller. Although the cut on her forehead 
was healed, it was still red and you could see dots where the stitches were
taken out. However, Jamey had cleverly concealed this with the use of some
makeup that Orlando didn't really understand. All in all, she looked amazing.
The topics of conversation that night varied. They started off with how Jamey
met Orlando, and she openly and unashamedly talked about her relationship with
Ewan. She didn't cry though, didn't once admit defeat in any way. However,
she did embarrass him immensely when telling how he had bravely rescued her
from the clutches of the evil ex, how he had looked after her, even how he
tolerated all her bad habits (which Orlando intensely denied). 
When the night wore away, the candles burning down to syrupy pools of liquid
cream, Sam, Eliot, Andy and Jess all left. The girls, including Jamey (to 
which Orlando was immensely pleased) all made plans for the day after next
'to go out and get ridiculously drunk and sing bad songs at karaoke', and
Andy offered to help Orlando with his lines. They said good night at around
twelve thirty and left Orlando and Jamey alone in the apartment. 
Orlando closed the door after Andy and turned to Jamey. 
"That went well."
He sighed.  



Chapter 13

	Jamey and Orlando sat up late that night, partly out of the need
to clear up and partly because they were too tired to crawl all the way
to their bedrooms. They were sat on the front room floor, with the TV on
silent, watching infomercials and dodgy adverts for kitchen cleaner with
men who had orange faces. Jamey sipped quietly on her steaming mug of
coffee as Orlando flicked through channel after channel of adverts. 
	He seemed at peace, or at least he appeared so, but something had
been nagging at his mind for weeks now and the only way to settle those
unanswered questions was to ask them. Trying to sound casual, he approached
a subject he wasn't really sure he should.
	"Jay?"
They even had pet names for each other now, it was ridiculous.
	"Hmm?"
	"Don't think I'm being nosey or anything…"
	"Ok…What is it?"
Inhaling slightly, Orlando started.
	"What happened between you and Ewan? I mean, why didn't it work out?"
Jamey blew out slowly through her lips, as if in a silent whistle.
	"Well…erm. That was out of the blue! Where do I start?"
Orlando settled back against the sofa and watched her closely. She didn't 
seem so afraid to talk about it now, which was comforting - he was
obviously doing something right.  
"When I first met him, he was this charming, intelligent, funny guy who
had his own company at the age of twenty five and a Mercedes…Not that
I'm materialistic, you know, but that was attractive…"
Orlando smiled despite the anchor that now weighed down his heart - he
didn't have any of that…
	"But as time went on, he changed…"
She paused here, and chewed her bottom lip absent mindedly, as if in deep
thought. Her voice softened slightly as she carried on, but showed no sign
of fear.
	"I can almost pinpoint the exact day it was that he turned. 3 days
after my birthday, and he came home late. Eighteen months ago, maybe. It
was a Thursday. By 1am he still wasn't home and I was worried. He was never
normally that late - not even when he'd been down the pub. I can remember
sitting on the kitchen floor with my cat and thinking the worst."
Orlando's eyes widened slightly, as he watched her recall the events that
changed her life. She seemed to adjust slightly, from the Jamey he knew to
someone who was stronger in mind than in strength, slightly more diffident,
but still determined. 
	"He came home at 2.30 that night. Drunk. As soon as I heard the doo
 click open, I felt such relief, but I was naďve. He walked through the
kitchen, past me and went straight into the bedroom. I called after him,
and went into the bedroom to see what was wrong, but he just swore at me
and told me to leave."
Orlando was beginning to regret asking her now - he didn't want to upset
Jamey by making her remember the things that hurt her so much, but he was
still curious and she didn't stop, so silently he listened to her.
	"And from then on, he never went back to how he used to be. He would
swear at me constantly, hit me, never let me out…I felt caged in. For
eighteen months I endured so much, but I thought it might change back to
how it was, with the flowers and the unexpected days out. I thought it
could go back as quickly as it had changed.
I never found out what happened that night - I thought it might be drugs,
but he was too clever for that. I don't know, and to be honest I don't care.
He was too possessive and I couldn't deal with that. So, I left."
She sighed, drank the last of her coffee and then looked up. Orlando was
astounded. 
	"Oooh, that feels so much better. I haven't talked to anyone about 
that in ages. You should be a therapist!"
Orlando was confused.
	"I'm sorry? I haven't done anything!"
	"Yes you have. Since I've been here…oh, never mind."
	"No, what is it?"
He shuffled closer, determined to drag out of her what she wouldn't tell.
	"It's nothing."
	"Tell me! Or, I'll do it. I'm not frightened to use my weapon. I
will do it."
Jamey started laughing and begged him to not to, but Orlando ignored her
pleads and grabbed her feet, tickling them rigorously. Never had he met
anyone in his life who was so ticklish. Jamey squirmed around on the floor
in fits of giggles, desperately trying to push him off. 
	"Now…tell me!"
	"Ok, OK!"
She yelled between gasps of air. He dropped her feet and ruffled her hair,
making it stand on end. Orlando's dark eyes glimmered and his dark features
creased into a huge grin as she sighed loudly and pulled her hair out of
it's loop at the back of her neck.
	"Well, I was just going to say, that since I've been here, it's the
happiest I've been in years. Even before I met Ewan, I wasn't truly happy,
because my life was a bit…I don't know how to describe it. Empty? Yeah,
empty. But living here with you has made me so content and comfortable.
But I won't say that now that you've done this."
She declared fiercely as she pointed to her messy hair. 
Orlando couldn't describe how he felt then. Happy? Comfortable? Pleased?
None of those words covered it. All he knew was that he was getting a big
rush of something good.  
 	"And I just want to thank you…"
	"You don't need to.."
He tried to interrupt unsuccessfully. 
	"No, listen, Orli. I want to thank you. You've changed my life around
since I've known you, and for the better. Without that meeting in Tesco's,
and you saving me and all that, God knows where I'd be. I owe you, big time."
Jamey flung herself forward and threw her arms round his neck, hugging him
tightly. He wrapped his arms round her, which wasn't so hard because she
was so slim. She fitted perfectly into his embrace, as though she belonged
there. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, the perfume she wore and
the washing powder on her clothes.  He could stay like that forever, so
secure and protected…
	She pulled back and looked at him. Her grey eyes appeared so dark,
yet up close, you could see every colour in them - flecks of green and
blue and tinges of brown made her eyes look so luminous. Gently, she
kissed him on the cheek then knelt back again.
	"I'm thirsty. Another coffee?" 
Orlando nodded, speechless. He had fallen in love. 

                                * * *

	"So now it's my turn, right? Columbian or Costa Rican?
She called from the kitchen. 
	"Your turn for what? Costa Rican please."
	"Well, you've been asking the questions for ages, now it's my turn."
Orlando rolled his eyes. 
	"Go on then. Shoot."
	"Weelllll, I've been here, what, four months?"
	"Ish."
	"And I haven't seen you with a girl throughout that time. What's
going on? Surely a drama student as good looking as you would have girls
swarming all over you!"
He was glad Jamey was in the kitchen so she couldn't see him blush. In
truth, he hadn't thought about his own relationships since Jamey moved
in because he was so utterly captivated by her. She was everything he
needed and he didn't want anything else, even if he had only just
realised this. However, he obviously couldn't let Jamey know this.
	"Or are you one of those typical male types - terrified of
commitment with only one thing on their minds? Where's the coffee
filters?" 
	"In the cupboard."
	"Orli, there are fourteen cupboards in here, you'll have to be a
bit more precise."
	"Hold on."
Orlando wrenched himself from his spot on the floor and padded into the
kitchen, the bottom of his pyjama bottoms shuffling on the wooden
laminate. Jamey was kneeling on the floor, petting Maude who was laid
in her bed.
	"In this cupboard."
He said, opening the cupboard above the oven.
	"You still haven't answered my question. What's with the women
drought?"
	"I dunno. I haven't had the time for relationships recently,
that's all."
He lied.
	"Oh, come on. I'm not just talking about relationships. You're
a bloke; surely you can fit the occasional shag in your busy schedule?
Four months and no humpty dumpty? I don't think frustrated would define
you!"
Despite the fact that he was intensely embarrassed, Orlando couldn't
help but laugh out loud.
	"Humpty Dumpty?! Bloody hell, I hope you don't ask all men for
a nursery rhyme in bed!" 
Jamey giggled and stood up, stretching. She seemed a lot taller now,
with legs up to her armpits. "stop looking" he thought to himself.
	"Seriously though, Orli. I don't want you to think that just
because I'm here, you can't bring other people back home. Go for it,
I honestly don't mind. It'd be good to see you let out some of that
frustration."
	"Well, we'll see. Thanks though, Jay."
	"No need. I think I'm gonna take this to bed."
She picked up her coffee and sipped it.
	"I think you should get yourself to the land of nod as well.
You look knackered."
	"Thank you, and may I say that you look particularly stunning 
as well."
Orlando retaliated. Jamey giggled, shuffled over, and kissed Orlando
on the cheek.
	"Night Orli."
	"Night Jay."



Chapter 14

	"Andy, mate, it's Orli."
	"Are you aware of the time? Orli, it's 6am."
	"Yeah. I can't sleep. Listen. Meet me at JJ's at 10."
	"Orli, I'm…"
	"Please, it's urgent."
A slight pause. A sigh.
	"Fine"
	"Cheers, Andy."
Click. The phone cut off. That's the great thing about friends; you can
call them at 6am and they don't mind. Much.


                                   * * *

	Orlando and Andy met, as 'planned' outside JJ's, for what Orlando
loosely termed as 'brunch', despite his absence of ordering anything.
Andy, being the brilliant timekeeper that he was, arrived ten minutes
late, with the excuse that he had a flat tyre. 
	"You don't own a car. You walked here."
Said Orlando.
	"I might do."
Andy replied vaguely. 
	"Anyways, Lord Bloom, to whom it appears I answer every beck and
call; what is the matter?"
	"I'll explain in a minute."
Orlando dismissed, looking around nervously as though he was wary of
being followed. Andy looked him up and down.
	"Mate, you look awful."
The sad thing was, Orlando knew this. He'd hardly slept after last night,
he hadn't shaven and his hair was as unruly and untamed as ever - brown
curls entwined themselves round his ears and the back of his neck. 
Orlando merely mumbled something inaudible in reply, then ushered his
friend into JJ's. 
	Orlando much preferred night time JJ's to day time JJ's - the day
time encompassed all the commerciality of a fifties American diner that
some people loved and some hated. No, he favoured the Jazz at night, the
dark blue anonymity of the bar and the paintings and photos that told
hidden stories, all of them different and original. It was there he
thrived. However, he was not there now. 
	No, he was in the harsh daylight, the strip lighting and the
chrome chairs, with Elvis providing the soundtrack to everyone's lives
while they lounged in the American café.
	Andy ordered two 'footdogs' (a foot-long hotdog, which, in some
countries could be considered offensive to those with a sensitive
disposition) and a jumbo strawberry milkshake, complete with two straws.
When Orlando questioned the sheer volume of Andy's order, he simply
replied;
	"Well, you're the one dragging me here - I may as well make the
most of it."
Orlando shook this aside, and perched himself on one of the tall silver
bar stools by the counter. 
	"Andy, I've got a biiig problem."
Andy could tell his friend was anxious - he'd started drumming the beat
of 'Blue Suede Shoes' onto the beer mat in front of him. His eyes were
twitchy and he constantly darted looks towards the door- looking for
what or whom, Andy was not sure. 
	"Hold on, is this bigger than the biiiig problem of locking
yourself out of your apartment at the four in the morning needing a
piss?" 
The barmaid standing behind the counter, who had previously been wiping
glasses, ineffectively tried to disguise a giggle as a cough at the
ridiculous story she'd just heard.  Orlando shot her a look of
unadulterated spite, his brown eyes narrowing to dark openings under
his brow. She, nevertheless, backed off and resumed the menial task of
glass wiping. 
Orlando, returning to his conversation, blurted out 
	"Much. I think I love Jamey."
Before Andy could answer, Orlando checked himself and began again.
	"Let me re-word that - I'm in love with Jamey. I think." 
Andy's expression was unchanging, as if he were expecting more. He
didn't say anything, he just sat still. Orlando looked at him
sceptically.
	"Please take this seriously."
	"I am. I know you're in love with her."
	"How the fu…I only found out…"
He ceased his incessant drumming long enough to glance at his watch
and then resumed.
	"I only found out eight hours, four minutes and…thirty…one
seconds ago."
	"Oh purlease."
Andy exclaimed, in what Orlando could only categorise as excessive
gay. 
	"It's obvious. Ok, I've only seen you together once, but she's
all you ever talk about, and you behaved like a love sick puppy at
the meal last night."
	"I was not."
Orlando retaliated defensively, then paused.
	"No I wasn't, was I?"
Andy nodded solemnly.
	"Plus, you've been counting the hours, minutes and seconds since
this 'amazing' revelation came about. You haven't just fallen in love
with her, it's that you've only just realised."
Orlando dropped his head into his hands then slowly started to bang
his head purposefully against the bar.
	"Modammy honna doo?"
Orlando's voice was muffled by his hands that covered his tired face.
	"Come again?"
	"I said, what am I gonna do? I can't tell her, she can't know…"
	"Well, she might. How do you know she doesn't want to know. How
do you know she doesn't feel the same waaay…"
Andy's eyes widened as a plate full of hotdogs was placed in front of
him, accompanied by what seemed like an endless milkshake. Orlando's
emotional gabble washed over him like Muzak in a fourteen-storey lift
as he made light work of half a footdog in (almost) one mouthful.
	Orlando seemed almost totally oblivious to the fact that he was
being ignored, so carried on.
	"Well, two reasons  - one, she's hiding out from her violent,
possessive and frankly damn scary ex, leaving me to suspect she doesn't
want a relationship right now, especially with her flat mate, and
secondly, it'd just make things awkward between us, particularly if
she doesn't feel the same way, and, besides, I like things the way we
are now. It's comfortable."
He rushed out, flailing his arms around. Looking up, however, he saw 
Andy gorging himself on a hotdog smothered in ketchup, and realised
he wasn't getting anywhere.
	"Andy, please."
Orlando stressed exasperatedly.
	"Ok, ok."
Andy struggled between mouthfuls. Swallowing heavily, he then gulped
down an obscene amount of milkshake, then wiped his mouth.
	"Lets establish some facts."
Orlando nodded, eager for some input.
	"You realised you loved her…when?"
	"8 hours, 6 minutes, aaaand…"
	"Ok, so early this morning."
Andy interrupted before the exact time was revealed, in full, to the
nearest mille-second.
Orlando nodded.
	"How many bottles of wine did we get through last night? As
precise as possible, please."
Orlando mentally counted for a few seconds, then replied.
	"5. And a bit. Between 6 of us."
Orlando was confused, but then again, this was Andy's logic, it was
slightly different. 
	"Which means you were tanked up on three quarters of a bottle
of red wine, two Heinekens, and a sip of that gone off Archers. 
Meaning you were inebriated." 
Orlando couldn't believe this.
	"No. Do not try and pass this off as some drunken…some drunken…
obsession."
He paused and sighed, the anger being replaced by tired exasperation.
His eyes seemed so dark and troubled, yet he was in love - surely he
was meant to be happy?
	"I've just…never felt this way before."
	"Yes you have, it's called a hangover."
Orlando's anger was back, and he really wasn't in the mood to be
patronised. He thought he'd be able to gain some clarity from Andy,
which obviously wasn't going to happen.
	"Fuck it, I'm leaving."
Orlando slid off the stool effortlessly, scowling at his friend's
lack of sympathy.
Andy stuck out his arm and grabbed Orlando's wrist, dragging him
back to his seat.
	"Ok, Ok, look, I'm sorry, just couldn't resist that one.
Just -sit."
Orlando reluctantly and heavily sat back down, eyes glaring like
hot coals under dark brows. 
	"Right. Listen."
Andy began, clearing his throat.
	"You love her. You don't think she loves you, plus she
admitted she's not ready for a relationship after her last one."
He wasn't telling his friend anything he didn't already know.
	"In my eyes, you've got two choices. One - you could tell
her how you feel, possibly igniting a new relationship between
you, which would be fine because you are comfortable and already
know each other."
Nodding slowly, Orlando could sense a 'but' approaching.
	"But if she doesn't feel the same way, you may jeopardise
the already good relationship you have with each other, ending
with…?"
	"Nothing."
Orlando admitted glumly. Andy paused for a moment, and looked
Orlando in the eye, checking he was following everything. He 
was sat perfectly still, his chocolate eyes wide and anxious.
	"OR."
	"Ooooor?"
Asked Orlando.
	"Or, secondly, you could keep it to yourself. Play it cool,
don't let her know, and just let the situation lie for a while.
Keep the relationship you already have comfortable and stable,
losing…?"
	"Nothing."
Orlando finished.
	"It'll be hard, very hard, but it'll be worth it in the
long run if you definitely know she doesn't reciprocate."
	"Andy, do you even know what reciprocate means?"
	"Of course I do, I…"
He was cut short by the abrupt ringing of Orlando's phone. Sam
insisted he kept one on him "just in case" and gave the mobile
as a Birthday present. Orlando hated it.
	"Hel-lo? Oh Jay, hey. I know, I had to grab some stuff…"
He paused. He absent-mindedly licked his lips and ruffled his
uncut hair. Andy watched him intently.
	"What? Now? It's not serious is it?…Oh, good. Well, give
me ten minutes. I will! Taters."
Orlando switched his phone off, replaced it into the deep pocket
of his jacket, then stood up.
	"Taters? What does taters mean?"
	"Laters."
Orlando replied obviously. Andy looked bemused.
	"Oh never mind. Look, I've got to run, Jamey says there's
something urgent. Listen, cheers for that, Andy."
He peeled a ten-pound note from his wallet and placed it on the
table next to the empty plate. 
	"You'll pay? That's so sweet!"
Andy exclaimed camply. 
	"Thanks mate. I'm still confused, but thanks."
 


Chapter 15

	"Honey, I'm home!"
Orlando called as he dropped his keys onto the table and pulled
off his denim jacket. He could hear Jamey signing along, slightly
out of tune to 'All That Jazz' from the small radio in the kitchen.
He smiled despite himself, as the indescribable butterflies that
disrupted his stomach kicked in. Nervous jitters. His hands were
sweating, and his heart was hammering painfully in his chest. Now
would be the first time he'd see her after he fully understood the
extent of what he felt, and, Orlando thought to himself, it's going
to be weird.
'How do I act around her? What if she finds out?' 
He asked himself. 'What do I do?'
It was like stage fright. Dear God. 
	Trying to sound casual, he sloped into the kitchen, wiping
his hands on the beige khakis he was wearing, trying to disguise
the fact that he was nervy about seeing her.
	"What was so urgent then?"
He asked quickly, making himself a coffee. Jamey was sat on the
work surface, eating yoghurt and swinging her legs in time to the
music. She was in her dressing gown and her wet hair was loosely
plaited at the side of her head, leaving small trails down her back.
Completing the look were a pair of thick white socks worn on her
small feet. Perfect.
	"You alright?"
She asked, cocking her head. Orlando's acting was obviously slipping
- she could tell something was wrong. 'Cover yourself, get through it.'
	"Yeah, I'm fine. You worried me earlier though - I thought
something had happened, y'know, an accident or something, cos if
it had, that'd be bad and I'd have to be back really quickly…"
	'SHUT UP'
He mentally screamed. Stop making an arse of yourself. Arse, arse, 
arse…
	"Orli?"
Jamey was trying to disguise the fact that she clearly found this
hilarious, and made out she was concerned.
	"Are you sure you're alright? You've gone really pink and
you're shaking. Are you ill?"
	"Touch of the cold, that's all. Now, what is this thing
then?"
'Nice recovery' Orlando thought to himself.
	"Oh, yeah, right. It might be nothing, but your agent sounded
pretty excited."
	"Fiona? What, did she call?"
Orlando forgot everything about how he felt for the moment - this
sounded important. 
	"Yeah, she left a message, but as you can probably tell, I
was in the shower."
She finished off the last of her strawberry yoghurt and lifted
herself gracefully off the surface. She was going to drag this
out, Orlando knew it.
	"So…"
He encouraged her to tell him what this news was.
	"So she left a message."
Jamey answered simply and cheekily.
	"And what did it say?"
	"Well, go listen to the message and you'll find out."
Orlando sighed and hurried over the answer machine that was
blinking silently. Pressing play, he knelt down beside the machine
and strained his hearing, despite the fact that he could hear
perfectly well what was being said.
	"Hey Orli, hun, it's Fi. I don't know if you've got it yet,
after all it is early and you're probably still in bed, lazy sod,
but there should be a letter arrived this morning…"
	"Oh yeah, there was some mail for you…"
Jamey teased from the kitchen. Orlando rolled his eyes. 
	"…about that audition you did for the part of Faramir in The
Lord of the Rings a couple of months ago. Call me when you get the
letter and we'll discuss it. Chow, hun."
	"Is that it? Is that all she said?"
He asked out loud, disbelievingly. 
	"Well, obviously, yes."
	"Well then, where's the letter?"
	"In here."
This was like a wild goose chase. Exhaling deeply, Orlando stepped
in and found the letter, unopened, on the barstool in the kitchen.
Jamey was stood next to it. Again, the nervousness returned. Had he
got the part? Had he failed again? Could he bear another rejection?
Hesitating, he backed up and ran his hand over his unshaved chin. 
Jamey evidently realised the importance of this and left her teasing
front behind.
	"Do you want me to open it for you?"
Orlando wrung his hands together. 
	"Yes. No."
Nausea swam round him as the anxiety became unbearable.
	"Yes, go on then…No, don't."
	"Sod it, we'll never got it done at this rate…"
Jamey declared, ripping the envelope open in her delicate hands.
Pausing slightly, she breathed in deeply.
	"Ok, even I'm nervous now."
She brought her eyes up to look at his, deep and scared. He looked
changed - anxiety weighed down on him, yet this meant more to him
that she knew.
	"Ok….Right…"
She began, trying not to sound too nervous.
	"Dear Mr. Bloom. Thank you for auditioning for the part of 
Faramir in upcoming movie trilogy The Lord of the Rings. Blah
blah…appreciate your time and effort,...blah…blah…"
And then she stopped. 
	"what is it?"
Orlando asked urgently, timidly.
	"Unfortunately, we are not able to offer you the part of
Faramir…"
	"Jesus. Fuck it."
He swore loudly, purposefully and violently.
	"Fuck. Oh shit."
Jamey watched him as he broke down. Seven failed auditions. He
pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes, willing the 
world to just leave him alone. Her grey eyes didn't change, however.
She didn't move to hug him or console him. Instead, she lifted the
paper up again and read slowly and clearly.
	"However, due to your clear capabilities and acting style,
we would like you to audition for the part of Legolas. You will
be required to audition at the arranged place and date as noted
below, and the details of your auditions are included on a
separate sheet attached."
Orlando slowly looked up and his gaze met hers. Jamey was beaming,
the smile reaching her eyes.
	"You did it!"
She squealed, and leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly.  He
was completely speechless, all he could do was laugh. 
	"Oh….Jesus. Holy shit."
He wrapped his arms round her, easily encompassing her whole
body in a hug that was so welcome, he didn't want it to end.
Jamey brought her head up and kissed him on each cheek. 
	"Oh, you sooo believed me!"
She teased, rolling her eyes. 
	"Hum, yeah, I really didn't appreciate that, Jay. Dear God.
I'm still shaking!"
She loosened her hug and stood tall, beaming hugely at him.
	"This could be it, Orli. You can really do it! Stardom,
fame, celebrity status… just imagine!"
Orlando closed his eyes and sighed, relieved.
	"I can't, y'know, Get my hopes up. If I don't make it…well…"
Jamey stepped close to him and cupped his face in her small hands.
	"Believe me, I know you can do it. And even if you don't,
you can pick yourself up and do it all over again."
	"I don't know. Maybe. I don't want to think about failure.
I just want to concentrate on this audition, and getting it right.
Which reminds me, I've got to ring Fiona."
	"And I've got to get changed"
She announced, as though her news were equally important. Kissing
him again on the cheek, Jamey danced into the living room and
stood by the floor length windows, singing to herself as Orlando
dialled his agent's number. Still shaking, his fingers were
reluctant to push the right numbers. 
	"You do realise, Mr. Bloom, that if you do make it big,
I'm gonna sell my story to some big glossy magazine, and reveal
all your bad habits."
She called, leaning a cup of hot coffee to her lips as she gazed
out onto the busy London street below. 
	"I don't have any!"
He retaliated, as he tried dialling again. 
	"Well, the wet towel thing is a habit I've noticed, and…
and…"
And then Jamey broke off.
	"Yeah, and what else? There is nothing!"
She didn't reply.
	"Jay?"
Nothing. Looking round the corner into the living room, Jamey
was knelt beside the window, coffee stains surrounding her as
she sobbed into the cream curtains.
	"Jesus. Jamey, what's the matter? What's happened?"
The phone receiver dropped from his hands as he saw the state
Jamey was in. Orlando ran over and knelt beside her, as she
cried wildly, clinging onto the curtain as though it would
save her life.
	"He's…he's down there. He saw me."
	"Who? Jamey, who saw you?"
Even as the words escaped his mouth, Orlando knew who was
down there and why she was so upset.
	"He's coming."
She sobbed.
	"Ewan"



Chapter 16

Orlando nearly panicked as much as Jamey did. He really did
not welcome the idea of walking away with broken bones and
bruises like he did from their last meeting. What should they
do? His first instinct was to run, his second to protect
Jamey. Settle for second, thought Orlando as the thumping
of heavy feet on stairs could be heard from outside.
Switching to defend mode, Orlando took charge of the situation
with as much guts as he could muster in the midst of absolute
panic. 
	"Jamey, I need you to listen to me. Go to my room, open
the door and hide by the post on the balcony. Do not make a
noise, do not come out until I tell you to OK?" 
He held her by her slim shoulders as she gasped her breaths,
shaking. Jamey looked so vulnerable, so scared, Orlando
immediately hated Ewan for all the pain he'd caused her. 
	"Jamey, will you do that?" 
As soon as he had spoken those words, hard fists started
hammering on the front door. Jamey's eyes darted to the door
and back to Orlando as she started crying again.
	"I can't…I can't…Please don't…"
	"Jamey, just go, you'll be fine, he'll leave."
As she crawled into his room, Orlando couldn't help but feel
a sense of déjŕ vu and utter dread come over him. 
He peered round the door of his room and made sure Jamey was
out of sight and safe before he approached the front door
that was shaking violently from the thrashing on the other
side. Orlando grabbed her empty easel, and as much of her
painting equipment as he could and threw them into his
bedroom, closing the door behind him. Scanning the room
quickly, he tried to conceal as much of the 'Jamey-ness'
in his apartment as possible so that the brute wouldn't
suspect her. As if he didn't already. 
	"Jamey, get out here! Jamey!"
Ewan started shouting. Trying to act as calm and naďve as
achievable, Orlando advanced towards the door slowly.   
	"JAMEY, GET OUT HERE NOW! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
Taking one deep breath, Orlando casually slung open the
front door, ready to greet the aggressive man as
diplomatically as possible. However, he was immediately
slammed into the wall by the force of the heavy door opening
into him. This was getting a little repetitive. The force of
the wall against his back was enough to wind him, but not
fell him. Orlando knelt down briefly to catch his breath
while the burly intruder made his way through his apartment,
treating the place like a bull in a china shop, crashing
his way through room after room, slamming doors and
hitting furniture. 
	"Excuse me, would you like to explain what the fuck
you think you're doing?" Orlando managed to muster as he
crept back up the wall, breathing heavily.
	"I know she's here, JAMEY!"
	"No one's here, it's just me. I promise, just leave."
	"Don't lie to me."
Ewan yelled as he rounded the hallway again where Orlando
was getting to his feet. 
	"I saw her, she's here somewhere."
Despite the extreme throbbing in his back and shoulders
again, Orlando knew he had to draw on every last drop of
acting to survive this little escapade. Trying to look as
sincere as possible, he stood up and faced the man that
was wrecking his apartment and terrifying the girl in his
bedroom. 
	"I can promise you, I'm alone. The person you saw
was probably in the apartment above - they're a couple
and have an apartment facing the same way as this one."
	Ewan approached him rather too quickly for his liking
as it dawned on him that he had in fact met this man before.
	"I know you. You were there before, upstairs, with
Jamey. You said you called the police…"
'Oh shit' Orlando thought to himself. 'He's gonna kill you.'
	"She is here, isn't she? WHERE?"
	"No-one's here..."
He said, clenching his fist at his side. Ewan raised his
own hand to hit him, but Orlando was quicker, lifting his
fist and punching his attacker hard and deliberately in the
face. Immediately blood poured from his nose, streaming
down his face and staining his white t-shirt. He momentarily
stopped and wiped his nose, before lifting his head.
	"Don't fucking lie to me, WHERE IS SHE?"
He roared, pushing Orlando into the door again. Pain coursed
through every vein in his body, every muscle seized up,
every nerve screamed in agony as his back was slammed into
the hard wooden door. Memories of breaking his back all came
flooding back, and the sensitivity that was left now caused
him so much pain that he was close to passing out.  
	"She's not here. Please, just leave."
Distantly, through an open window, the faint swirl of sirens
could be heard flowing through the streets. Just as Ewan was
about to lay a punch into Orlando's already hurt head, he
stopped and strained his hearing. 
	"You fucking bastard. You called the police again."
'Thank God' he thought to himself, relief sweeping over him.
Lifting his head heavily from his chest, he looked Ewan in
the eye and said slowly and quietly;
	"Now fuck off and never come near me or my flat again
because I swear I will kill you."
The sirens that had been getting louder and louder stopped
abruptly outside the block of apartments and three uniformed
policemen spilled out onto the pavement before sprinting
though the door and up the stairs. 
	"I will find her."
Ewan growled before throwing Orlando off the door and across
the hall floor. Wrenching the door open, he darted out and
jumped the first set of stairs before running into the
policemen who instantly handcuffed and arrested him for a
night in the cells.
	Inside, Orlando pulled himself to his knees and leant
against the door to the front room, his body stiff and aching
and his knuckles grazed. The bedroom door creaked open quietly
and Jamey's small head poked round the frame, her face tear
stained and red. Seeing Orlando collapsed against the door,
she started crying again, fearing the worst for him.
	"Orli…"
He looked up slowly and saw her rush over and kneel beside
him, tears streaming down her face. 
	"It's ok, he's gone"
He smiled weakly.
	"I'm so sorry…"
She sobbed, throwing her arms around him. Orlando reclined
quickly, her powerful embrace proving too painful to bear.
	"Oh God, it's your back, isn't it? What's he done?"
	"I'm fine, I'll just need some rest. I think he's
fairly damaged though."
He whispered, showing her his bleeding knuckles. Jamey
sniffed a laugh, then, realising that he was bleeding on
the carpet, ran and got a wet towel to cushion the wound.
When she returned, a woman police officer had entered the
apartment and was knelt next to Orlando.
	"Are you both alright? That man didn't look too happy.
What happened?"
Deciding to do things officially this time, Orlando and Jamey
told the policewoman everything, right from the very
beginning. One would fill in the gaps the other had missed
or forgotten, or would talk over each other at the important
bits. The policewoman noted everything down after moving
Orlando to the sofa so he could lie down. A paramedic van was
called to stitch up his knuckles briefly and to assess his
injuries after they both gave a full statement. 
	"Well that was a rather long tale."
The policewoman sighed after finishing her notes and closing
her notebook. 
	"Are you sure you're both OK? That's quite an ordeal
you've both been through."
Jamey looked at Orlando, who was laid gingerly on the sofa,
nursing his bandaged knuckles and smiled. 
	"I think we'll be fine."
	"Just one last question in that case then. I can
request for a restraining order to place on Mr. Hartnell
to prevent him from further harming you. I will need your
permission, obviously, but I would strongly recommend it
in your situation."
Jamey looked unsure for a moment, apprehensive of what
this could mean for her.
	"Oh, don't worry, it won't involve you directly.
Basically, we will suggest a certain distance in which Mr.
Hartnell is not allowed to be near you. A likely example is
that he would not be allowed within a mile of you. If he is
found violating this restriction, then he will be arrested
immediately, and any further legal action will be entirely
your decision. The application for restriction will have to
be applied for in court, but it will be a short pleading
and you have a more than strong case."
Orlando looked at Jamey and held her shaking hand, nodding
for encouragement. 
	"It would not only protect you, but Mr. Bloom as well.
Indeed, he has suffered from this ordeal as much as you."
	"I'm alright, I'm hard, me."
Orlando joked as he took Jamey's hand..
	"I think that might be good idea then."
Jamey replied quietly.
	"I'll leave you alone now so can have some peace. I'll
need both of you to come down to the station soon to sign
your statements and to arrange the details of the restraining
order and court dates, but for now I'll leave the number of
the station. If you need to talk to me directly, ring this
number and ask for PC Karen Walderslade." 
The policewoman handed Jamey her card and stood up, taking
her notebook and hat with her. Jamey stood to show her out,
but insisted she'd let herself out.
	"I won't trouble you any further. Good bye."
	"Thank you so much."
Jamey said, smiling. Orlando propped himself on his
shoulders and peeked over the edge of the sofa and called
	"Thanks very much."
They heard the door click quietly in the hall and were both
left in silence. 
	"Thank God that's over." Jamey sighed under her breath.



Chapter 17

Jamey and Orlando spent the rest of the day in his bed, eating
ice cream and watching black and white films. Each felt in more
than need of a little indulgence after the trauma of the day and
lay talking until the early morning. Orlando's back was
relentlessly painful and every muscle throbbed in protest to
the way it had been treated.  Breaking your back, Orlando found,
had more than a few afflictions in later life.

They both fell asleep half way through 'Some Like it Hot' at
around one thirty, but Jamey awoke before Orlando, due to the
thunder storm that had ruptured the sky. She wasn't surprised
that he hadn't woken - the painkillers the paramedic had given
him were strong and must have knocked him out for the night
Jamey pulled the duvet tight around her neck and rolled over
to face him, watching the lightning flicker across his peaceful
face.

Thunder rolled across the sky in the distance, a deep rumbling
that seemed to vibrate through everything in its path. But she
wasn't scared.  She didn't need to be, Orlando was there. Her
knight in shining armour, her guardian, defender, whatever you
wanted to call it, Orlando was it. Never could she remember
being as happy as she had been over the past few months, living
with him. Even he first few weeks with Ewan, before he turned,
hadn't been this comfortable, this happy.  And it was all down
to this one man laid beside her. 
Jamey had never met a single person who was so willing to get
beaten up for her, to face someone so violent just to protect
her. And what did he get in return? A hug and a thank you.

Jamey realised, while laid in bed so peacefully, that there
was nothing she could do that would sufficiently thank Orlando
for everything he had done for her.

On many occasions, Jamey had thought about telling her mother
about Orlando, but if she told her that, she'd have to explain
about the break up with Ewan, and she would not be happy about
that. It was Ewan who had (in her mother's words) "Taken you
away, made you live in that dirty place, away from your family"
(the dirty place being London). She could her hear Mother's
thick Italian voice reverberating through her head.

If she admitted to her mother about the violence, the
unhappiness, the break up, she wouldn't hear the end of it.
"I told you, he no good! But, no, you no listen, off you go,
too trusting, you always were! I told you, he no good, it end
sad, but you too stubborn, ai, mama…"

But if she told her about Orlando, her response, Jamey was
sure, would be very different. "Oh, he lovely, so handsome,
I can tell he has Italian blood in him, no? Why you not make
an honest man of him, Jamey? You get married, have lots of
babies, live in Italy, it be perfect!"

Jamey laid in bed, studying Orlando's face, right down to
the creases, and discovered that maybe her mother would
have a point. He is handsome, very handsome. His eyes,
despite being closed, were so beautiful, she could remember
every detail of them with her own eyes closed. Orlando,
the impeccable dresser would certainly impress her mother,
and always impressed Jamey. His character in itself would
be enough to fall in love with - he's caring, has the most 
mazing sense of humour, he's brave (especially facing up
to Ewan) polite, helpful, sensitive, thoughtful…everything
about him was perfect. 

                         * * *

Perfect /adj 1 entirely without fault or defect; flawless 
             2 an ideal standard 
             3 Orlando Bloom

                         * * *



Why then, did she not feel anything then? Why did she not
love this 'perfect' man? Within the second of asking herself
these questions, laid next to Orlando at 4am, Jamey realised
she already knew the answers and needed no-one else to tell
her.



Chapter 18

	The unrelenting buzz of Orlando's alarm clock awoke him
from his deep slumber, and continued its offensive attack on
his ears until he located it and threw it against his wardrobe
door, abruptly silencing the racket. He didn't remember
setting the alarm. The painkillers certainly worked - he
could hardly remember anything about last night, and although
the aching in his back was still prominent, it was nothing
compared to yesterday. Opening his eyes fully, the hazy,
November morning gently ruffled his curtains, the sky a steely
grey with no hint of warmth. He would much rather stay in bed
than face that unwelcoming weather.

Shifting his weight in bed, Orlando turned over, trying to
alleviate the stiffness that settled in, and his eyes
immediately settled on Jamey.

In his bed.

Taking a few moments to establish the reason for her being there,
he ended at a loss. He honestly couldn't remember anything about
last night - the paramedic said slight concussion or even mild
amnesia was inevitable, especially with the painkillers he had
been given and the blow to the neck and head. But he couldn't
remember a thing. Why was Jamey in his bed? Then the possibility
that Orlando really didn't want to face up to dawned on him -
what had happened last night for Jamey to end up in his bed?
If he couldn't recall any events from last night, then anything
could have happened…

Momentary panic eclipsed all reason, as Orlando tried to figure
out what to do. Jamey was still asleep, so he had to figure out
what happened damn quickly if he was going to redeem any dignity.
The first and most logical idea was to do what he does in all
crises - phone Andy. Carefully wriggling out of bed, and taking
the utmost care not to wake Jamey (as any meeting at this stage
could be rather…interesting) Orlando tentatively padded into the
front room, and grabbed the phone. Dialling Andy's number, the
number that appeared most on his phone bill every month and
cost him most money, Orlando waited for a dial tone. During
this small period of waiting, Maude waddled over and pushed
her nose into the cup of his hand, demanding attention. 

"Hello gorgeous."
Orlando cooed.

"Hello beautiful"
Andy replied. Orlando hadn't even noticed Andy had picked
up the other end.
	"Not you, I meant Maude."
	"Oh, well thanks."
	"I think I slept with Jamey."
	"Well, get to the point, why don't you? What do you
mean you think? Surely you'd know if you slept with someone,
even by your standards."
Orlando realised that none of this would make sense unless he
gave a full, if rather revised version of yesterday's events
(or what he remembered of them). Beginning with the Lord of the
Rings letter (that had nearly escaped his thought) he ended
with waking up six minutes ago. 
	"Jesus. "
Andy remarked simply. Orlando knew his friend so well that he
could tell which facial expression he was now wearing, and he
didn't like it.
	"Don't give me that look, Andy, it's hardly my fault.
I'm the good guy here. What do I do? If we did do it, then
she might just think I did it because she was vulnerable after
yesterday's events, and then she'll hate me. And be quick,
she'll wake up soon."

Orlando could hear giggling at the other end. Eliot was there. 
	"Eliot? Put her on."
'She'll be more use than you' he thought to himself. Giving
another revised version of events, Eliot squealed with
excitement at the Lord of the Rings audition, almost cried when
she heard of the fight yesterday and nearly wet herself laughing
at today's events.
	"Please take this seriously, El, I'm fucked here."
	"Well, you don't know yet!"
Eliot burst into fist of giggles at her 'hilarious' joke.
	"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. You want my advice? You've got to think
logically. When you've slept with people before, what do you
use?"
	"Come again?"
Orlando was, needless to say, slightly confused. 
	"You could have used slightly better wording there, mate,
but I'll let that one slide."
Eliot giggled. 
	"Protection. Condoms. You do use them, right?"
	"Always."
	"Well, look for evidence then. That'll be the only way
you'll be able to tell if you…y'know or not. If there's not
one there, you can't have done anything, if there is…"
Laughter crackled down the phone again as Eliot creased up. 
	"But, Orli, I really do think you'd remember, even if
you are concussed, especially with Jamey. But when she wakes
up, you'll be able to tell whether you did or not by the way
she behaves. That might be simpler. Honesty is always the best…"

The rest of the sentence was consumed by raucous laughter, so
Orlando put the phone down and sighed. His friends were the
bonus and burden of his life. He might have slept with the
woman he loved and not even remembered. How ironic. 

* * *

Sighing, Orlando lifted himself from the chair and went to
feed the dog and make himself and Jamey some coffee. Walking
into the kitchen, he saw the Lord of the Rings letter laid
solitarily on the table, and all the excitement returned.

Out of habit, he boiled the kettle, and after realising there
was no water in it, filled it and began reading the letter.
Attached to it were details of what his audition would require,
when and where it would be and how he should prepare. Orlando,
not realising, read aloud:

"…Due to the nature of the piece you are auditioning for, we
require you to prepare one classical Shakespearean piece of
no longer than three and a half minutes, preferably in dialogue.
There will be a trained actor / actress according to the needs
of the piece present at your audition, who will play the
secondary character in your dialogue piece. You will need to
provide a copy of the script for them…blah blah…your audition
will take place on Wednesday the third of January at the address
below…blah…Improvised piece for the camera involving dialogue
from the film you are auditioning for…wow…that's a lot of…
movement session with a character initializer…what's an
initializer?"

At this point, the kettle boiled, so Orlando made two strong
cups of coffee as best he could with bandaged knuckles, and
took them through to his room, where Jamey lay sleeping.
Before waking her, he observed the woman so peacefully
sleeping before him. Her dark eyes were shut and although
her face held no expression, she looked utterly serene.
She wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful. 
	"Jay."
Orlando whispered, as he sat on the edge of the bed. 
	"Jay, hun, I've made you a cup of coffee."
Jamey blinked her eyes open, then squinted them against
the light. Looking up at Orlando, she smiled and rubbed
her eyes. Yawning widely, she took the steaming cup from
him and sat herself up in bed.
	"Morning Orli. How you feeling?"
She croaked, in what she called her 'morning voice' 
	"Hmm, so-so. A bit achy, but those painkillers
certainly do work."
	"Tell me about it! Those pills knocked you out
last night - you didn't move once. I had to check on more
than one occasion to make sure you hadn't passed out!"
Relief swept over Orlando like a wave - if he didn't move
once, then he couldn't…
	"So I didn't move? Not at all? No strenuous movements?" 
He asked ambiguously, trying to sound casual. It was hardly
a situation he'd been in before though - even if he had slept
with someone who wasn't fantastic in bed, he certainly wouldn't
totally forget about them…
	"Not one. Why?"
Jamey asked, amused.
	"No reason at whatsoever. Just couldn't remember,
that's all."



Chapter 19

	"Do you have any plans for today?"
Jamey smiled cheekily and licked her lips.
	"Well, no, apart from the small fact that I have an
interview for the Tate Modern. But nothing else."
Orlando was surprised she hadn't told him earlier, but with the
events of yesterday, he guessed she didn't really have the time.
Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, Jamey explained that she
had got a call asking if she was still willing to put together
an exhibition of 'new, talented artists'. Obviously, her being
self-employed, she had no reservations about time or money, so
agreed to meet for an interview to explain her ideas. Orlando
watched her, entranced. Something right now made him want to…
just touch her. She seemed so delicate, yet so confident.
Something so appealing drew him in and he didn't want to go.
After the revised version of events (that Orlando found very
hard to follow) Jamey sighed.
	"And I guess we're both going to be rich if we get these
little jobs, aren't we?"
Orlando rolled his eyes.
	"Here's hoping. Right. When's your interview?"
	"One."
Jamey drank the last of her coffee, slid out of bed and threw
open a window, letting a blast of ice-cold air penetrate the
humid warmth of his bedroom. 
	"I will meet you at two thirty then, on Tower Bridge.
We'll tube up to Oxford Street; have a late lunch and then
walk up to Hyde Park, in which you can tell me how your
interview went. Okay?"
	"Yes Sir."
Jamey saluted, standing straight. 
	"But first, I'm having a shower. Oh, and Orli."
	"Hmmm?"
	"Get a haircut."
	"Right."

* * *

Right now is one of those moments that I'd like to treasure.
It holds promise, security, excitement and comfort and I want
to remember it forever.

I'm waiting at the front, everybody can see me. It's like
standing at the front of a queue - you know everyone can see
you, but you think you'd be selfish to turn round. Trying to
remember my lines, I run over and over them in my head.
'You've got it, Orli. God knows you've practised it enough.'
My palms are sweaty, I'm shaking ever so slightly and I can
feel my heart hammering against my chest, which suddenly feels
so fragile. Despite these symptoms, I want this moment to last
forever because it's the best day of my life. The music starts,
I step forward and try to balance on my unsteady feet. I can
hear everyone gasp behind me, sighs of admiration as light
footsteps follow me. The music stops after what seems like a
pleasant eternity, and I look to the person to the left of me.
That person looks so different, yet so familiar. The old man,
wrinkled and kindly in front of me begins, 'Friends and relatives,
we are gathered here today to witness the holy matrimony of
Orlando Bloom and Jamey Eliza Ebani.' 

But my eyes open to a different scenario. The all too familiar
blue walls, the white ceiling, the faded movie posters. My room.
Despite the reality of my imagination, everything is eventual,
including the inevitability of waking up. My only respite from
the comfortable everyday life is dreaming of what I want. It's
the only place I can be selfish without being reprimanded.
Dreaming provides the strength to carry on and accept that
next audition, ignoring the all too real possibility of rejection,
to meet that person who could make or break your heart and,
ultimately, to try and achieve your ambitions.  

* * *

Maybe Jamey was his dream. 

* * *

	Approaching the bridge, Orlando saw Jamey leaning against
the heavy steel rails, her slim forearms resting gently as she
looked down into the murky waters of the Thames below. Briskly
walking up the bridge, the wind thrashed round his face,
stinging his ears and making him squint against the bitter breeze.
Jamey's hair whipped around her, the dark, shiny strands
rebelling against such cold air. 
	"Don't jump!"
Orlando shouted as he neared her. Turning round, Jamey giggled
and threw her arms round him, hugging him tight. 
	"I only went and got the God damn job!"
She squealed, squeezing him tighter. Orlando lifted her up in
his embrace, swirling her round in the breeze, making her hair
dance round her slim shoulders. Her legs gracefully caught the
ground as she jumped up and down, unable to keep still from the
adrenaline pumping through her. Orlando treasured the embrace a
second longer than she did, then turned to her and smiled so
broadly he thought his cheeks would seize. 
	"You are bloody fantastic, you know that?" 
	"Yes!"
	"And do you know what else?"
Jamey, still obviously ecstatic, shook her head violently.
	"I'm freezing."
	"Let's get some lunch then!"
Jamey then did something that made Orlando go weak at the knees.
She gently leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on his cheek,
her soft lips like silk against his skin. In those precious few
seconds, the world melted away into a blur. He could smell her
shampoo, her perfume, he could feel the softness of her lips
 he could hear his own heartbeat, but everything else became
a pleasant haze in her arms. 
	Orlando lingered in that moment for as long as possible,
then looked at her. Her glassy grey eyes seemed so full of
warmth and happiness that it made him happy just to look at her. 
	Jamey and Orlando heard two women walk by, their voices
carried on the breeze.
	"How gorgeous, young love."
Unmoving from his embrace, and still with her cheek to his,
Jamey whispered quietly
	"Orlando, they think we're a couple."
	"We are, in a way."
	"Do you think we look…y'know…together?"
	"Erm...right now, yes."
Jamey reviewed their present situation, hugging, hell, almost
kissing on the Tower Bridge in the middle of London, then giggled
lightly.
	"Well, come one then, Mr. Bloom, treat me like your lady
today and we'll see whether we are a couple!"
	"Only if you do the same."
Replied Orlando coyly, slightly surprised at Jamey's change of
attitude.
	"What, treat you like my lady?"
	"You know what I mean."
	"Ok, then. Come on, it'll be fun!"
Orlando looked at Jamey curiously, even more drawn to this new,
adventurous Jamey and agreed with a nod.
Holding his arm out in a gentlemanly manner, Orlando adopted a
typical cockney accent and declared proudly,
	"Well, m'lady, shall we?"
Arm in arm, the couple walked along Tower Bridge in their own
world, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of everyday life.



CHAPTER 20

	The very thing that made this façade, this "couple" so
easy was the very reason that Orlando both loved and hated London.
Anonymity. All these people walking past them in the streets
stepped into his life for a few seconds, then left again, leaving
him wondering their stories, their lives and their thoughts. Then
again, that wasn't so much a plus - if everyone else was a passing
blur to you, then to them, you were just that. You made no difference
in the grand scheme of things, they probably didn't even see you.
Such unbelonging was unsettling; the idea that you meant nothing
to anyone was slightly depressing.

All these people glanced out of their occupying worlds for a second
to see this couple, leaving them with the blatant impression that
they were just that - a couple. And, in truth, neither Jamey nor
Orlando minded. They liked pretending to everyone else, and, if
they were really honest, they liked being an 'other half'. They
liked belonging to someone again, they adored the idea of being
able to say they're with someone, and the security and comfort of
having someone there. And if they were truly, heart-rendingly
honest, then it was a chance to be with the other. Each had thier
own secret feelings, unbidden to the world, maybe only whispered
to the cold blanket of night, and this harmless lie between them
that they were pretending to be a couple, gave them a few precious
hours when they could live their secrets. For the fear of ruining
what they had - their friendship that was so perfect, neither let
on. But they were acting this lie very well. Maybe too well.

* * *

Orlando squeezed Jamey's hand slightly tighter as they pushed
themselves through the unrelenting crowds in the Underground. The
long, cool platform seemed endlessly stretched ahead, and the
stale air swirled around them as a tube train glided past on its
gritty steel rails. 
	"Christ, I hate the Tube."
Jamey nodded as she was pushed from behind by a small but vicious
pensioner. The woman snarled at Jamey, and started mumbling
something inaudible about the youth of today under her breath as
she continued to take out more unsuspecting tube travellers with
her walking stick.
It took fifteen minutes for them to force themselves out of the
mouth of the tube station, and the bitter wind that greeted them
made them both inhale sharply.
	"Right, let's prioritise. Food."
Orlando declared, importantly. Jamey smiled and nodded again
	"Most definitely. Where do you want to go?"
After a few seconds of hesitation, Orlando smiled broadly.
	"I know. Follow me. It's a surprise."
He grasped her hand again, and felt her small, warm fingers
entwine with his, holding tight. 

It took about ten minutes to lead Jamey to the mystery place, by
which time the crowds had dispersed slightly. They talked
continually, with not one awkward silence disturbing the flow of
conversation, which varied from donuts to the state of the British
Government.  
	As they turned into a small back street, Orlando told Jamey
to close her eyes.
	"C'mon, look, I'll hold both your hands, just trust me ok?"
Jamey nervously nodded, then fluttered her glassy eyes closed,
trying to suppress a giggle. Taking her hands in his, Orlando
slowly led her down the street, careful not to go too fast. Given
this quick opportunity, Orlando studied her face as she concentrated
hard on not tripping. Her lips were curled into a small smile, and 
er cheeks turned pink against the frozen air, her eyes desperately
trying to sneak a peek at her whereabouts. Orlando, after all
their time together, was still left breathless at her beauty and
found it increasingly hard to resist her charm and temptation. 
Relentlessly giggling, however, Jamey was unaware of his intense
scrutinisation of her face. 
"Okaaaay, nearly there. Just a few more steps…"
Orlando, trying to suppress an unexplainable attack of laughter,
let go of her hands and stepped behind her silently. For a few
moments, Jamey stood still and silent, still with her eyes closed. 
	"Hey, Orli. Don't leave me. Woah, where are you? Bloom? I'll
bloody kill you, I swear. Hey?"
Orlando bit his lip to stop him from bursting out laughing, then
placed his hands over her eyes.
	"When I count to three, open your eyes, okay?"
Jamey sighed and agreed.
	"1...2...3. Open up."
Slowly, carefully, Orlando slid his hands away as Jamey opened
her eyes. In front of them was a small Italian restaurant, with
a large bay window and red doors, a white fascia, and in black
script, along the top, was painted elegantly 'Maria's'. Two tall
bay trees flanked the door, and the irresistible smell of Italian
food floated out of the open kitchen window. On one side of the
restaurant was a tiny antique shop, its lopsided window crowded
with small trinkets and boxes, mirrors and books. Jamey gasped
in admiration, then whirled round to thank Orlando who was stood
quietly behind her, hands behind his back.
	"Happy New Job… Day…Thing."
He declared proudly. Her eyes watering, Jamey flung herself
forward into his embrace, squeezing him tightly.
	"Oh thank you, thank you Orli."
She whispered excitedly. Drawing back slightly, she looked him
in the eyes curiously
	"Did you know my mama's name is Maria?"
	"Lucky guess, I suppose…"
He smiled the smile that reached his eyes, a true smile at 
having made her so happy. A flutter of excitement streamed
through his stomach, kicking himself into talking quickly.
	"I think we should go in then, you know, get a good
table." 
Jamey smiled, and, taking his broad hand in hers, entered the
warmth of the restaurant. 



Chapter 21

Smiling secretly, as though holding a highly lucrative piece
of information, Orlando took another sip of his wine. Holding
the warm liquid in his mouth for a moment, he tasted every
flavour in the red wine he could find - strawberries, oak,
blackcurrant, all mingled in the crystal glass. Swallowing his
gulp, Orlando looked up at Jamey, who was studying the menu
carefully. The soft candlelight reflected in her eyes, small
dots of hazy, golden light that danced around every time she
looked at something new.

"Ricotta and spinach cannelloni…tomato and mozzarella salad…
vegetable lasagne, ooh, pesto rigatoni…this reminds me so much
of my mama! This is what she cooked for me as a kid…"

Jamey immersed herself in the menu, pointing out various dishes
and the stories behind them. Orlando could do no more than be
surprised by her. She seemed so passionate, so comfortable, so
happy. In fact, he hadn't seen her this happy for a long while.
He knew that Ewan had played a heavy part in her life, and that
the restraining order had obviously rid her of him for good. 
	"Do I have twat written on my forehead or something?"
Jamey asked suspiciously, looking up from her menu.
	"You've been staring at me straight for the past few
minutes."
	"I'm sorry. Just…you've not been this happy in ages that's
all."
He reasoned honestly.
	"Well, now I have reason to, don't I? Bad ex gone, new
job, it's all good! By the way, how's your hand?"
He'd almost forgotten about the knuckle incident, but being
reminded of it seemed to prompt pain. The bandaged mass on his
hand seemed to pulsate an aching heat that arched every time he
flexed it.
	"It's fine. Getting there."
Politely interrupting their conversation, the waitress came and
took their orders of vegetarian cannelloni, rigatoni and two
tiramisu and re filled their wine glasses. As soon as she had
left their table, Jamey, mouth wide open, leant forward and
whispered conspiratorially 
	"How did you…did you not see that transparent act of
feminist flirtation?"
Orlando, shaking himself awake, looked confused.
	"Come again?"
	"That waitress! She was clearly, and if I might add, not
very subtly, checking you out, Bloom!"
	"Sorry, can't say I noticed."
And he truly hadn't. He was too caught up in watching Jamey
order. Everything about her was so graceful, so confident…He had
to stop this.
	Leaning back in her chair, Jamey swirled the wine around
in her glass, watching the garnet liquid eddy round the edges
of its constraint. Raising one eyebrow, she asked slowly
	"Alright then. Orlando, why are you single?"
Leaving a few seconds of stunned silence to calm the blushing
that rampaged through his veins, Orlando stayed cool, and
mirrored her actions by leaning back and taking his glass.
	"Get to the point, why don't you? I…I just haven't met the
right person yet, that's all. Like I said before."
Running a hand through his untidy hair, Orlando felt that was
a sufficient recovery to keep her off his back. 
	"Oh, come on, I know I've asked you this before, but I'm
hardly talking about bloody marriage here. When was the last
time you had sex?"
'Wasn't expecting that one.' He thought. 
	"Jamey! Don't broadcast it to the whole restaurant, will
you?"
Jamey smiled at her own blatancy and leant in closer, lowering
her voice. 
	"Go on, how long? A week ago, two?" 
Lowering his own voice, Orlando slunk back slightly in his seat
and felt a burning rush in his cheeks.
	"I dunno, I hardly keep track, do I?"
Jamey raised an eyebrow. 
	"4 months."
Jamey almost spat out the wine she had sipped. A wide grin was
spread over her face, dark eyes wide in surprise.
	"No way! You are joking, right?"
Orlando sunk in his chair and sulked, his brow knotting in
anger.
	"What? I've been…busy, that's all. When was the last time
you got laid then? Eh?"
Jamey licked her lips, tasting the last few drops of wine.
	"Ah, that is very different my friend. I'm still going
through the 'All men are Bastards' period after Ewan, I have an
excuse - you don't! And I just find it hard to believe that you,
a very handsome, twenty two year old hasn't had a lay in…how
long was it again?"
	"Piss off."
He retorted severely, throwing a look of disgruntled misery at
her. Jamey lingered her gaze on him for a moment, before slowly
leaning forward.
	"I'm sorry."
Orlando flicked his gaze upwards to survey her apologetic face.
If only she knew the reason for his lack of activity…in that…
department. He would feel awkward taking a girl home to Jamey,
having to introduce his one night stand to the woman he loved.
It wouldn't be right.
Jamey held out the little finger of her right hand.
	"Truce?" 
Hooking his finger round hers, Orlando shook off his bad mood
and apologised for his own selfishness.
	"However…"
Jamey whispered.
	"We really do have to change this little pattern. We'll
go girl spotting, pick you out a nice little unsuspecting victim
and you can have your nasty way with her! Then your tally of
months can go right back down to zero."
	"Er, thanks, but I think I'll sort myself out."
Despite having resolved their problems, Orlando couldn't help
but feel a burden of sadness settle on his shoulders, like his
own personal demon. If she's so eager to get him laid by
someone else, she really can't feel the same way. 

The rest of the afternoon passed all too quickly for Orlando and
Jamey. They ate, drank and laughed with such inhabitancy, an
outsider could do nothing but assume they were a new couple very
much in love. After consuming the whole of the left hand side of
the menu, they were presented with a bill of Ł135.89, including
three bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne. Upon reading
the long list of alcohol charges, it was only then that they
both realised how tipsy they were feeling. The room swam and
danced around them as Orlando graciously paid the full bill
(plus tips) in cash and rather unconfidently wobbled out of the
restaurant. Orlando's wallet, no less, seemed much lighter that
night. 



Chapter 22

	Pushing the door open, Jamey hit an unsuspecting Maude,
who was laid comfortably on a blue cushion dragged over by the
front door. She let out a little yelp and limped through the
apartment sorrowfully, much to Jamey's guilt.
	"Baby! What did the nasty lady do to you?"
Orlando petted the dog as Jamey made herself a cup of coffee. 	
	"I'm sorry!"
Jamey called from the kitchen, trying her best not to laugh. 
	"Shakespeare, eh?"
Orlando looked up from the dog he had been following like a
secret agent, bent down, hands on the floor. Humming the theme
tune from Jaws, Orlando realised he was hunting a dog and had to
concentrate on the words that had just floated out of the
kitchen. Shakespeare? Clicking, Orlando realised it must be the
letter about the audition on the kitchen stool that he'd received
earlier. 
	"Hmm, just the one speech thankfully, but I'm thinking of
going really classical. Romeo and Juliet?"
Bringing two cups of steaming coffee from the kitchen, Jamey came
and seated herself next to Orlando on the floor in front of the
blank TV. Still feeling slightly tipsy from the wine earlier,
Orlando squinted at his watch. 10.30pm. It seemed earlier, somehow.
He stood quickly and turned off the overhead lights, switching
instead to warm yellow table lamps round the room. Gradually, the
couple were encased in a cosy glow from small lights surrounding
them. Orlando sat next to Jamey again, glancing quickly out of his
eye at her. God, she was beautiful.
	"Definitely. Which bit though?"
She asked.
"You need a dialogue, something everyone knows if you're going really
classical."
She said, crossing her legs underneath her. Winking, Orlando stood
gracefully and padded over to the full bookshelf, crammed with every
book imaginable, and pulled out a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet,
in which sheets of photo copied paper stuck out the top. 
	"A couple of months ago, I auditioned for a play on the West
End, and one of my pieces was this, I thought I'd use it again
because I know it so well. And anyway, let's face it, who is there
better to play the part of Romeo?" 
He enquired sarcastically, cocking his head to receive a playful
punch on the arm by Jamey, who still looked slightly tipsy. 
	"What about Brad Pitt? Johnny Depp? You've got a way to go
yet!"
One thing that Jamey would never confess, none to herself or others,
is that her heart skipped a beat now. She wanted him more than any
other good-looking actor on this planet - none of them compared. Many
more of these moments had and will present them selves to her over
the course of the next few months, but they would be kept an unbidden
secret than only her and Maude knew. 
Orlando crossed her thought and moment of revelation by handing here
a dog-eared sheet of paper, full of directorial scribbles about actions
or emotions to express at points in the script. 
Act One, Scene Five, Capulet's House. Jamey scanned her piece of paper,
whilst sipping carefully at her scathing coffee, aware that Orlando
was watching but not feeling uncomfortable. 
	"I love this scene."
She murmured, reading the last of it. 
	"I think it's great. You'll be great."
Orlando had a flash of inspiration that could not be ignored.
	"Could you read in for me?"
His dark eyes widened in anticipation, and as he stuck out his bottom
lip in desperation, Jamey caved in.
	"Come on then, Sir Montague." 

* * *

	Jamey stood opposite Orlando in a theatrical pose, hand flung
across her forehead in distress. Trying to suppress laughter, Orlando
adopted a straight-backed, gentlemanly posture and tried to slick back
his curly mess of hair. Clearing her throat, Jamey announced proudly,
	"So what's my motivation here, dahling? What am I feeling?"
Assuming the role of director, Orlando circled her, and placed a hand
on her shoulder, fully aware of the impact he was about to have on her. 
	"Well, sweetie, picture this, you've just met the man you've
fallen in love with, love at first sight, you might call it. You will
do anything for this man, you're utterly entranced by everything he
does, you find him fascinating. But! And there is a big but, if
you'll pardon the pun, you're being very coy. Not ready to pronounce
your feelings, you play around the issue, not letting your emotions
run away with you, you put on a front."
Jamey's throat stuck still. She couldn't swallow, she couldn't think
straight, as she realised that Orlando had just put all she felt, all
she did into a matter of sentences. Did he know? Had she let on, had
she shown too much, been too close? She was like Juliet. Closing her
eyes, her heart thumping a bass inside her chest, Jamey tried to
compose herself from the wobbling mass of jelly into a human person. 
	"Got it?"
He whispered delicately into her ear. Nodding, Jamey opened her eyes
and licked her lips. Orlando cleared his throat and looked her in the
eye, before beginning his speech. He spoke slowly, softly, quietly,
but his voice lilted on every word. The words slipped out and
surrounded them, pulling them both closer together. 
	"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the
gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to
smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Jamey utterly melted. His voice…the words slipped between his lips
like silk. Every bone in her body felt like it would give way to the
sweet words that Orlando spoke, washing over her like water.
Remembering that she was meant to be helping him learn his lines,
Jamey steadied herself, yet with a shaky voice carried on.
	"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly
devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do
touch, and palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss." 
Stumbling slightly on her last word, Orlando pulled on the script that
Jamey held so close to her face, so he could neither hear nor see her.
Trying not to use his own sheet, Orlando retaliated,
	"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
After Jamey, Orlando faltered. He couldn't remember the next line.
His mind a canvas of white, Orlando looked at Jamey, who started
giggling with anticipation.
	"Uh, wait…"
Closing his eyes tight, Orlando tapped his foot impatiently, waiting
for the words to kindly reappear in his blank of a mind. Jamey, still
giggling, leant over and whispered the line in his ear.
	"Then let lips do what hands do. That's your line."
Her voice seeped into his ears, sweetly mellifluously. Her s's were
slightly more pronounced, making his ear tickle. 
Orlando felt a rush inside, a surge of such desire, like electricity
pulsing through every nerve, every vessel in his body. A burning heat
bubbled up inside him that was sure to explode if he did not suppress
it. Such was the effect of Jamey.
Taking no notice of the piece of paper in his hand, he whispered
	"Then move not while my prayer's effect I take…"
Jamey frowned. Looking up, she caught Orlando's eye and couldn't
break the bond that stuck them there. Trying to stifle the urge
inside her lean forward and kiss him, to let her inhibitions and
restraints fall away, she said, through a shaky voice and nervous
countenance,
	"That's not your line…"
Jamey was unable to finish her sentence as Orlando stepped forward
and silenced her with a kiss. His hands found her neck as his warm
lips touched hers in a kiss so soft it left no trace, leaving Jamey
dizzy inside. She dropped the script clenched tightly in her hands
and let it fall noiselessly to the ground by their feet. For maybe
a minute or so, Jamey was locked in this kiss, in his embrace so
deeply, she did forget her inhibitions and restraints. Everything
that she once cared for swam into a melting pot of troubles that
she never need face again, as she had this one moment, this one kiss. 
	As quickly as it had happened, Jamey drew away, slowly pulling
his hands away from her neck that so perfectly fitted the shape of her
face. 
	"I don't…I can't…"
She stammered, shaking her head. Orlando stepped away, ashamed that
he'd done the wrong thing, hurt the perfect woman that now seemed
so far away from him.
	"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"
He said, trailing away regretfully. He ran a slender hand through
the dark coils adorning his head and scratched the back of his neck,
sideways looking at the woman he felt he had just offended. 
	"Goodnight Orlando"  
She murmured as she stepped past him into her own room, closing the
door with a low click. 
	Orlando slumped on the sofa, head in his hands. The crumpled
scripts lay before him on the floor, like discarded love letters,
once treasured and now forgotten. The only words his eyes chose to
focus on where at the bottom of the page, underlined with careless
grey pencil. 
	"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight; 
for I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
	


Chapter 23

	Jamey pressed her back against the cold hardness of the door
behind her. Licking her lips slowly, she could taste the kiss that
still lingered, making her heart race and her hands shake. Her
large eyes grew accustomed to the dark light as she stood perfectly
still, questioning herself. Why did she pull away? Why did she end
that best kiss of her life with the man…the man…Could she say it?
Was he the man she loved? Grinning inanely in the dark, Jamey could
answer that question with one word. It began with Y, ended in S and
had an E in the middle. 
	But now, now things were going to change. This must have been
a drunken kiss. They had both had rather a lot to drink at lunch, and
her head still did swim slightly. Maybe that's all it was for Orlando.
Maybe this kiss was just a mistake, that would be forever ignored,
unspoken and awkward between them. She didn't want things to change.
But she still didn't know why she pulled away. Was it this fear of
awkwardness, of regret?
	Through this continual stream of consciousness, one thing kept
on repeating itself in her head. "He just kissed me. We just kissed."
Those words played on swings and roundabouts in her head, passing,
then returning with all the discretion of a slap in the face with
a wet fish. 
	Passing through her room, Jamey changed into her bedclothes,
(an old t-shirt of Orlando's that was far too big, but too comfy to
throw out) opened then closed her window, switched the lights on and
off, then collapsed in a heap on the bed. A nervous wreck, with
unanswerable questions circling through her thoughts, Jamey
wondered what Orlando was doing now. 

He had got up from the sofa, turned off all the lights, locked the
door to the apartment, and was now similarly slumped on his bed,
with exactly the same questions running through his head like bullets.
He'd changed into his own pyjamas (a grey t-shirt and dark blue
shorts), opened and closed his own window, re-made his bed twice
and was wondering what Jamey was doing at that moment. She might be
crying, she might be hating him, she might…she might be relishing
the kiss just as he was. He could still taste it on his lips if her
ran his tongue over them. He could still smell her perfume, could
still feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips…

* * *
 	
Jamey sat on an uncomfortably hard plastic chair at the side of the
hall that smelt of old pianos and dust, near the judges, who were
arranged neatly in rows, like trees in a forest. Orlando was stood
in the middle of the room, wearing his lucky boxer shorts beneath
dark jeans and a t-shirt. Only she knew that. His hair was slightly
shorter, but was still curly, and small ringlets tumbled onto his
forehead.  He circled a woman, no, make that a girl, with long
blonde hair and unwelcoming grey eyes. Her eyes weren't warm.
Jamey's were.

They were reciting that scene. Jamey felt jealousy rush through
her bloodstream like a drug, and felt her cheeks burning as she
watched the words slide like snakes out of the girl's mouth.
These words were no longer idyllic, romantic or beautiful, they
were hard and they sliced through the air with a knife. She
didn't relish these words. Jamey did.

He said the line, the line that made Jamey's insides turn to
jelly, and made the jealousy become even harsher, blinding her.
Suppressing the green eyed monster desperately trying to unleash
itself, Jamey clenched her fists around the moulded plastic and
felt small bumps and ridges imprint themselves into the softness
of her palm.

Orlando leant in and kissed the girl, a brief kiss that did not
in any way resemble their kiss, and the only way he was going
to get this job was if the kiss was convincing, Jamey reassured
herself. This was for his own benefit. She stood up resolutely
and paced the length of the room that seemed like miles, until
she reached the couple. Placing two firm hands on the girl's
shoulder, Jamey pulled her away, watching her turn to
insignificant dust before her eyes. Orlando looked at Jamey
with a fire in his eyes that she'd seen once before, once
before that kiss. Smiling warmly, so warmly that the grin
reached his eyes, Orlando placed a hand on either side of her
cheeks and kissed her. And this time, that kiss didn't stop. 




Chapter 24

Secret n  1 Something kept hidden or unexplained
          2 a fact concealed from others or shared confidentially
            with a few (e.g. Andy and Eliot)
          3 "The Kiss" 

The next day, after leaving the apartment early, Orlando walked
the short distance to Eliot's flat for what was termed 'a talk'.
The cold December wind bit at his face and ears, and the premise
of a hot cup of coffee, a Hobnob and a sympathetic ear seemed
worth the extra speed. Orlando found her in the kitchen with
precisely this. Seated at the table with the coffee and biscuits,
was Eliot. Her dark hair was pulled roughly into a straggly bun
and half of last night's makeup was smeared over one side of her
face (the other half he presumed, was on the pillow) and she was
still in her pyjamas. 
Orlando sat down and slammed his head fiercely on the wooden
table before moaning something inaudible about 'idiot…arsehole…twat'. 
	"Right, what is it then?"
Eliot slurred into her coffee. 
	"Two thirds good news, one third suicide inducingly bad."
	"Let's go with the good news first…I need time to wake up."
	"Got a second audition for Lord of the Rings, Jamey got a
job at the Tate."
He said flatly. Orlando still had his forehead pressed to the table
and refused to lift it until all the news, good or bad, was expelled. 
	"Orli! That's great! You waited so long to hear from them -
when is it?"
	"January."
	"Wow, one month. Not long. And Jamey got a job at the Tate?
That place pays big bucks - she's so lucky. I interviewed there
once, d'you remember? They said I was too unprofessional.
Unprofessional my arse - that job had my name all over it, until
Eliza Arsington Shite or whatever her name is got there first.
Bitch. She swept me totally. I have the mind to…"
	"I kissed her."
	"Eliza?"
	"Jamey." 
Eliot stopped talking. 
	"You did what?"
The door to the kitchen unexpectedly burst open and Sam, Andy and
Jess fell through the doorway. 
	"YOU KISSED HER?"
They cried in unison.
	"Bloody hell, what are you doing here? Were you
eavesdropping?"
Orlando lifted his head and demanded, shocked. All three were too
surprised to be ashamed or apologetic, and instead crowded round
him demanding to know what happened. 
	"Ok, ok, calm down. Just…shut up."
Orlando muttered, standing up. He pushed his way through the
crowd of expectant faces and sat on the counter top. 
	"I…I kissed her. It's not like I planned it or anything,
it just…happened."
	"Oh c'mon!"
Jess exclaimed, obviously not convinced by his explanation. 
	"It can't just 'happen' - there's got to be something
behind it. Explain."
Orlando was demanded to give a blow-by-blow account of every
movement of the day before, from what to how it was said, where
they were and how it came about. 
Three quarters of an hour later, after describing everything he
could remember, the group was silenced.
	"Who pulled away first?"
Asked Sam, leaning forward. 
	"She did."
Orlando replied quietly.
	"And then she said goodnight and went to bed."
	"Right then and there?"
Questioned Andy, confused.
	"Yup."
Trying to clarify what Orlando meant, Andy repeated himself.
	"Right then and there?"
	"Jesus…Yes Andy. Now I'm scared that there might be this
whole awkward thing between us, y'know, avoiding the subject."
Orlando sighed. 
	"Have you two talked about it?"
Asked Eliot, genuinely looking concerned. 
	"No - I was up before her, so came round here. I haven't
talked to her since…"
A hush fell over the group, who all stared in awe at Orlando,
who looked tired, fed up and far from ecstatic. 
	"So what was the bad news?"
Andy joked, trying to lighten the mood. Orlando shot a look of
pure venom at him before Sam slapped him sharply round the back
of the head. 
	"I don't know what to do."
Orlando sighed, rubbing his neck. His hair was unwashed, his face
unshaven and his eyes looked tired and sad. Never before had any
of the group seen him this depressed, apart from after he broke
his back. Even then, he wasn't totally defeated. Then he had hope.
Now, though… 
The peals of Eliot's phone broke through the depressed silence,
and Eliot got up quietly and crossed the kitchen to the
refrigerator, where the phone was fixed to the wall. 
"Hel-lo?"
There was a pause as she established the conversation, and then
her face dropped.
	"Oh Hi Jamey…"
Every person's jaw dropped in the kitchen. Sam mouthed 'Jamey?'
to Orlando who shrugged back.
Eliot continued the conversation
	"Uh huh, sure. Right. Orlando?"
Orlando waved his arms in the air and shook his head violently,
signalling that he 'wasn't in'.
	"No, he's not here right now, hun. Are you looking for him?"
Another pause.
	"Oh, he's still in bed is he? Lazy git."
Jamey threw a look of confusion at Orlando who returned the look.
Everyone else was glued to the spot, straining to hear what was
being said. 
	"You want to talk? Something important? Sure, come on over.
Give me ten minutes first, I've just got out of bed! No, no, you're
not being awkward at all. Eliot McMann, always here to help…Yep,
yeah, ok, bye hun."
Eliot slowly hung the phone back on its hook and looked over at
Orlando who was crushing his head in between the door and frame
of the biscuit cupboard. 
	"Ok Bloom, quit the self harming and make yourself scarce.
Somebody has now got to clear up your shit as per usual, God knows
how I'm gonna do this…"
	"I can't go now - she'll see me walking home and know that
I wasn't in bed…how she ever thought that I'll never know, I'm
always out the house before her anyway…"
He mumbled.
The rest of the group burst out laughing, unable to believe the
complete arse-over-tits situation he had managed to land in. Andy,
trying to live up to the 'best mate' label he was stuck with, made
a suggestion that could well be, in Orlando's eyes, the most idiotic
proposal ever voiced. 
	"How about you stay here, and wait for Jamey. We all hide, so
she doesn't know we're here, and then…we'll uh…congratulate her?"
The silence that ensued spoke volumes. Andy was ignored for the next
five minutes as punishment for his stupidity. Orlando, averting his
eyes from Andy, who was blushing fiercely, suggested plainly,
	"I'll just go upstairs, wait until she's gone and then leave.
I'll just say I left extra early to move some more stuff from the
dig at Guildhall. That'll do."
Eliot shrugged, Andy stayed silent, Jess nodded and Sam sneezed. It
was decided unanimously then: he'd wait. 

	

Chapter 25

	Two quiet taps on the door signalled Jamey's arrival, at which
Eliot ushered Orlando out of the way and into the bathroom. 
	"I can't believe I'm digging you out again, Orli, you do
realise you owe me big time for this?"
	"I know, I know, and I'm sorry, I really am. Just don't let her
know that I'm here, yeah?"
Eliot rolled her eyes and sighed, then pushed the door closed and
greeted Jamey. Orlando poked around the bathroom for a while, picking
up and scrutinizing various bottles and elixirs, then got bored and
sat in the empty bath. The bathroom was nicely decorated, with pale
blue walls and silver taps with small script on them indicating the
'hot' and 'cold'. White towels and flannels were strewn without care
over the toilet and sink, and the window desperately needed a good
clean, but apart from that, the place was relatively clean. Of all
the rooms in the flat, this was the best. If a little uncomfortable. 
Orlando slumped further down in the bath and propped his head on a
towel, before hearing Jamey and Eliot passing into the kitchen next
door. Then, rather unpleasantly, Orlando found the walls between the
bathroom and kitchen weren't that thick, and every word could be
heard from the girl's conversation. This certainly wasn't planned.
Orlando panicked - he didn't want to listen to what Jamey was saying,
her side of the story might not be what he wanted to hear. He might
find out that she hated that kiss, that she thought he was completely
out of line, that she was considering moving out, because Orlando
clearly felt differently about her and she couldn't deal with that,
or…
	
* * *

"So what did you want to talk about? You sounded pretty depressed on
the phone, I thought the occasion might call for some cheering up."
Orlando heard a heavy bottle clunk on the wooden table next door. Jamey
sighed and giggled a little, the way she did when she felt awkward, when
the dimples showed most prominently in her cheeks…Orlando sighed and
shook his head, dispelling the need to mentally examine every gesture,
ever facial expression she might be showing.
	"Well, its not all bad. I did get a new job."
	"I know!"
Eliot replied, excitedly. 
	"How do you know?"
Jamey asked, confused.
	"Oh, no, not I know, not about that, but I know…that it wasn't
all bad news!"
'Nice recovery', Orlando thought to himself, wishing that Eliot would
concentrate more on what she wasn't meant to know, rather than what
she did now and was trying to hide.
	"Yeah, it's for the Tate Modern, I'm an exhibition organiser
for a new collection of art that's coming in soon, showcasing 'new,
upcoming talent',"
Jamey's tone was sarcastic, just as it was when she had told Orlando.
	"…but they want some of the work in my portfolio to head it."
	"Congratulations, I know you were desperate for some permanent
stuff, looks like you've done it!"
	"Yup. Oh, and Orli got a second audition for The Lord of the
Rings."
If Orlando could see through walls, he would be able to see Eliot
feign excitement, widening her eyes and opening her mouth like an
over-enthusiastic gold fish. 
	"When's that then?"
	"January the third, Orlando kissed me."
'Here we go' Orlando thought, pulling the towel over his head. He
felt ashamed, guilty, remorseful but also strangely compelled to
listen to what was being said.
	"Well, erm, that was abrupt."
Eliot stalled, trying to compose herself.
	"What happened?"
Jamey proceeded to give a full version of the day's events, just
as Orlando had, which paid a lot more attention to detail than his
account. From what she had for breakfast that morning to what time
they arrived home, ending, finally, tiredly, at the kiss. The
recollection on Jamey's part had clearly worn her out, as she
stopped short of herself and sighed. 
	"And do you know what the worst part about it is - I don't
know what to do. I think I love him."
Orlando sat up straight, unsure that he'd just heard correctly.
	"That sounds like the best part!"
Eliot exclaimed. Jamey rested her elbows on the table and sighed
desperately.
	"Well…"
Orlando leaned further over the side of the small bath as Jamey
quietened down, and promptly fell flat on his face, his ankles
twisted round the silver taps rooted firmly into the porcelain.
Needless to say, he was hardly silent, which cut Jamey's flow of
conversation off immediately. He heard, though muffled from the
piles of towels that had landed on his head, Eliot making polite
excuses and hurrying out of the kitchen.  



Chapter 26

	"What the bloody hell was that? What are you doing on the
floor?"
Eliot whispered fiercely, pushing the bathroom door to with a
low click.  
	"I…I fell out the bath."
Orlando replied sheepishly, brushing himself off. Pausing slightly,
he folded the towels he'd landed on and told Eliot what he'd heard. 
	"What, you mean these walls are…you can hear?"
Orlando nodded. Earnestly, he whispered
	"But did she finish the sentence? Did she tell you what she
felt, does she…"
He babbled inanely, grabbing her hand in nervous shock and
squeezing it harder than he meant to.
	"Orli, just let…go! 
She hissed.
	"Right Orlando, out now, go home. I'll carry on here, just
go, you're a fucking nuisance."
Eliot violently shooed him out of the bathroom and to the front
door, where she wrenched it open and kicked him, quite literally,
out of her house. Orlando had said nothing during this - he
couldn't get a word in edgeways anyway. 
Turning around, he was quick enough to see the door being slammed
in his face, the black wood landing meekly millimetres from his
nose. High pitched ringing started emanating from one of the many
pockets in his jacket. 'Damn these fucking utility fucking combat
jackets…' He mumbled as he wrenched the small phone from a pocket
with victory.

	"Hel-lo?"
	"Orlando, it's Fi - is this a good time?"
Orlando looked up and down the street, then began walking down
the road towards his apartment.
	"It is now, what's up?"
	"Well, this may sound a little strange, but, just bear with
me. Everything's confirmed for January third, right? The audition."
	"How could I forget? Yeah, it's all set, I've even got my
speech lined up. An 'A' plus student, hey?"
	"Definitely. Right, what would you say if I told you that
January the third was tomorrow?"
	"I'd say you were lying."
He replied coyly, putting on as much boyish charm he could force
down the phone.
	"Ok, let me re-phrase that. They want to move the audition
ahead. To as soon as possible. Something to do with making the
most of extended rehearsal time, they want all the cast confirmed
ASAP. So, if you want to be in with a chance, I'd get in there,
mate."
He was completely stumped for words. 
	"Uh, right. As soon as when?"
	"Will you be ready for tomorrow?"



Chapter 27

	Orlando wasn't sure he wanted any of this to happen. He didn't
feel in control of the way things were happening so quickly, how
unprepared he was for an audition that was looming ever nearer made
him uneasy. He hadn't heard anything from Jamey or Eliot either, and
for all he knew, Jess, Andy and Sam were all still sat upstairs in
Eliot's house. Which meant he had to no-one to talk to. 
He glanced at his watch for what must have been the fiftieth time in
under a minute and the hands still indicated 1.16pm. Perhaps his
jitteriness was due to the three cups of coffee he'd been drinking
since he got back to his flat, but caffeine didn't normally affect
him so noticeably. Something just wasn't sitting right with him. The
lack of knowledge about the potential job also made him nervous - he
hadn't been told about location, time, duration, nothing. And now he
was auditioning for a totally different part nigh-on two months early! 
Orlando knew he should be feeling excited, privileged even, to be
given such an opportunity, and small part of him was happy. But only
a small part. The majority of him was perturbed and depressed. Things
weren't happening the way he'd planned at all. 
The phone began ringing at him, interrupting his pensive dejection.
He climbed over the back of the sofa and picked up the phone.
"Hullo?"
"Orlando, it's Fi again sweetie, I've got some details about the job
you're going for."
"Oh right, hold on, let me get a pen and paper."
Grabbing the nearest pad and pencil, Orlando switched ears with
the receiver and tore off a fresh sheet.
	"Right, carry on."
	"Ok, the part you're playing for is Legolas, an elf. As far
as I know, there are three others shortlisted, and all have their
auditions tomorrow too. I think you're between them in auditioning
times. Now, you are going to be so excited about this, I am, I wish
I was going!"
Orlando could just about muster a raising of the eyebrows at her
enthusiasm and poised his pencil, boring hole into the clean,
smooth sheet of paper.
	"Filming will start as soon as the cast is confirmed, and
I have a feeling that you and one more character are to be set,
so it'll be pretty hasty. If you get the job, you'll have to leave
the next day for location in…"
His agent paused here, for suspenseful dramatic effect. It worked.
	"Where?"
He asked, slightly urgently.
	"New Zealand."
	"Holy Shit."
Orlando said, dropping his pencil. New Zealand? Could it be a bit
further away? 
	"Christ. Fuck me."
	"I know, amazing, isn't it!"
She enthused down the phone. Orlando was immediately torn. Half of
him was elated beyond belief - filming in New Zealand for a big
budget movie, yet the other half of his heart plummeted. It would
mean leaving all his friends, his mum, Maude, and…Jamey.
	"Uh, yeah, I guess. How long will the shoot be?"
	"Well, Orlando, bearing in mind that the director will be
filming three films at once, at least eighteen months. You wouldn't
have to worry about accommodation or living expenses, all of that will
be sorted out for you, as will flights and transfers."
The moment Fiona said the word 'flight', immediately an idea sprang
to mind. 
	"Can friends and family come along? Can they come with me?"
A deep sigh fell down the phone.
	"The director has made it very clear that only immediate family,
such as children and married partners will be able to come along, for
privacy reasons and to prevent on-set leakage."
So, eighteen months on the other side of the world with a bunch of
strangers. 
	"Do you want me to tell you who's already been confirmed? I
have a list in front of me."
	"Ok."
He managed to sigh.
	"Well, there's Sean Bean, Elijah Wood, Christopher Lee, Ian 
cKellen, Ian Holm, Cate Blanchett, Liv Tyler, and some new comers,
Dominic Monaghan, or is that Monaghon? And an American guy called
Sean Astin. It's a pretty big project, it's gonna pay big bucks,
but I'm sensing you're uneasy. What is it?"
He exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. Orlando's mind
was a whirlpool of thoughts, some good, some bad, but all resulted
in a nothingness.
	"Oh, I don't know, it's just…I'd have to pretty much abandon
everything for this, and I don't know if I can do that. I think I'd
be a bit lost amongst all those Oscar winners and amazing actors…I…"
	"Listen, sweetie, that's the way the cookie crumbles, you know?
I know this is a very rushed decision, but I also know it's the break
you've been waiting for. I know you are more than capable of doing
this, and they wouldn't ask you to audition again if they didn't
think you would deal with it. You're one of three, that means you
have a one in three chance of having the experience of a lifetime."
He sighed again, knowing that she was right. 
	"Look, Orlando I've got to go. All this chit-chat is based on
the assumption that you'll be accepted. To be honest, they'll be
stupid to pass you up, and I think you'll be stupid to refuse the
opportunity. That's just my opinion though. Just go to the audition
and see what happens, and ring me as soon as you know anything, ok?"
	"Ok, thanks Fiona."
	"You'll be fine, hun."
The phone clicked off. The absence of her high pitched, rushed
voice left a hole in his thought. Still holding the receiver,
he dialled the number of Eliot's house. 



Chapter 28

"Hey Eliot, it's me, is Jamey still there?"
	"No, she's gone for a walk, says she needs to clear her
mind."
He sighed. Today was not going well, and to boot, his knuckles
had begun to ache again. Typical. 
	"Did she say anything about…y'know."
Orlando slowly flexed his fingers, trying to rid himself of the
stiffness that paralysed them. Eliot's voice softened and she
tried comforting him.
	"Hey, Orli, I think it's better if she talks to you. She's
got some stuff on her mind, that's all."
If it was possible, his heart sank a little lower with the burden
of putting Jamey through an emotional roller coaster. 
	"Oh. Ok."
	"Do you want to talk about whatever is making you sound in
the depths of despair?"
	"To cut it short, my audition has been moved from January
third to tomorrow and if I get through, it'll mean eighteen
months in New Zealand starting the day after tomorrow."
	"Oh. Right." 
	"I think I'm gonna go now. I've got to practise my speech
and erm…I'll see you later."
	"Ok, I'll…"
Before she could finish her sentence, he had hung up. Eliot turned
the phone off its loudspeaker and looked at Andy, Jess and Sam who
all looked as depressed as Orlando sounded. 


* * *

	He spent the rest of the day reading and re-reading the same
lines, practising deliveries and movements, pondering eye contact
and projection, but with the same worry underpinning everything he
did. Everything boiled down to questions, and he really wasn't sure
he could answer them. If he does get the part in the movie, will he
accept it? Will he be able to leave everything behind for the sake
of his career? Would he be able to leave those friends who had been
there for him everyday, through his highs and his lows, who had been
the most stable part of his life for uncertainty and possible
instability? But then again, if he got rejected again, would he be
able to pick himself up and just carry on? Orlando severely doubted
it.
	The next time he looked at his watch, it was 6.40pm. He'd
resisted the urge to ring Jamey's mobile after what Eliot had said,
and thought that leaving her to her own thoughts might be more
beneficial than him breathing down her neck. But she had been out
all day, and he was beginning to get worried. The sun had set hours
ago and the December weather was hardly welcoming, and Jamey was out
there by herself. Whatever it was Eliot had told Jamey, it obviously
required deep thought. 
Orlando had no idea what had exchanged between them, hell, he didn't
even know if Jamey knew how he felt. She might not want to come home
if she knew an interrogation was facing her, or that the atmosphere
would be awkward. She didn't even know that he'd been round at
Eliot's this morning, and that he'd effectively been eavesdropping.

Orlando felt guilty beyond all belief. If only he'd just kept his
stupid mouth shut about his feelings, none of this would've
happened, and everything would have been fine. But it wasn't. 
	Orlando looked up from his spot on the floor by the couch to
see Jamey walk in. He hadn't heard the door open, or even that it
had been raining, but judging by the state of her, it was more than
drizzling. Her hair was slicked to her head in wet strands, her
clothes were dripping and her make up had run. She stood in the
doorway to the living room, dripping on the carpet until Orlando
got up and crossed her.
	"Are you ok?"
He asked, hugging her. She wrapped her arms round him and whispered
	"I'm a bit wet."
	"Do you want a towel?"
	"I'd like three."
He stood back from her and smiled. She seemed ok, if a little damp.
	"Have you had any dinner?"
She shook her head.
	"How does pizza sound?"
	"Fanfuckintastic."

* * *

	Jamey dried off and got changed into her pyjamas whilst
Orlando ordered their pizzas over the phone (it was too wet to go
out). She didn't mention anything about why she'd been out, where
she'd been or why she'd been so long, and Orlando was hardly in a
position to question her, seeing as he'd been listening in on their
conversation and knew exactly why she hadn't come home earlier. He
decided not to tell her about the moved audition, it seemed like the
last thing she needed to hear, and she had enough to do with her new
job to keep her mind occupied. He probably wouldn't win the part,
anyway, all his worrying was based on assumption. The fact that he
still didn't know how she felt about, well, him, was something that
still weighed heavily on his mind, but he presumed that she would
talk about it when she was ready. 
	"That's much better."
Jamey sighed, towelling her hair as she came into the kitchen.
Orlando was sat on one of the breakfast stools, trying to complete
a crossword in the daily paper. He was stuck on one clue and it
wasn't helped by the fact that there were no letters to help him
out. 
	"Christ, what's the matter with you, Mister Frustration?"
Orlando looked up.
	"Eh? Oh, it's this crossword, the last clue's a sports one
and I know fuck all about tennis. I hate Wimbledon!"
	"Well, what's the clue?"
Jamey asked, sitting herself down. He narrowed his eyes then read
slowly.
	"A score of zero in tennis, squash, etc. Four letters, no
clues."
	"Love."
Orlando thought he'd misheard. He dropped the pen he was holding 
	"Sorry?"
	"Love"
She said simply.
	"Like in tennis, fifteen to love. Means no points." 
Orlando mentally died and shrivelled up from his stupidity. This
focus on his feelings had to stop. 
	"Oh, right."
He mumbled, stooping to pick up the pen. What he couldn't see was
Jamey's dark eyes rapidly blinking away tears and managing to
stifle a sniff. Slowly standing back up, Orlando heavily slumped
himself in his stool and turned to her. He sighed deeply. Her eyes
looked so different, kind of stripped, as if he could tell what she
was feeling just by looking at her. His hands were shaking, so he
clamped them firmly under the table while he tried to sound as calm
as possible. 
	"Listen, Jamey, about last night, I'm sorry if I…"
	"You don't need to…"
She interrupted, suddenly sounding very shy and quiet.
	"I didn't mean to upset you. If I did. It was probably just
the drink."
Orlando spun this as best he could, knowing all too well that it
wasn't just the drink, but it looked as though she needed
reassurance.
And reassurance was what she was going to get. 
	"I just…it doesn't matter. I'm not upset. Yeah, just the
drink."
A silence fell between them, and it wasn't one of their usual,
comfortable, warm silences. It was an awkward silence, like a
physical wall between them, preventing them from even looking
at each other. 
	"Are we ok then?"
She asked, head bowed slightly.
	"I think we're fine."
He replied, finally penning 'love' to complete the crossword. 



Chapter 29

	The rainy evening was spent eating the contents of the
kitchen cupboards and watching re-runs of bad American TV. The
night before, and especially the kiss, was not spoken about,
and the comfort factor was restored between them, although each
held their own little secrets. At eight o clock, in between
finishing pizza and starting ice cream, they banished the lethargy
that had begun to set in from eating too much by having a burping
contest. Jamey was beating Orlando hands down, until she developed
a bad case of the hiccups, which left her immobile in a heap on
the floor, clutching her chest in pain. Orlando tried to help,
and he would have been successful but for the fact that he was
laughing so hard that he couldn't breathe. Jamey finally got her
comeuppance when, due to his heaving laughter, Orli got a stitch
in his side and was unable to sit up. His mocha eyes were creased
every time he laughed, partly from watching her bounce up and down
with the hiccups, and partly because his side hurt so much. 
The giggling was soon replaced with yawns as the evening passed on,
and by 11.30, they were both asleep on the floor. Orlando was
stretched out, his head resting on a cushion and one arm thrown
casually over his chest. Jamey, like wise, was dead to the world,
her head resting on his chest that rose and fell gently with
every sleeping breath he took. She was curled peacefully on the
floor on his left hand side, and her arm was draped over his
stomach. The pale light fed into the darkened room from the
TV flickered over the sleeping pair, as they lay serenely
motionless; too busy dreaming to bother with the real world. 

Orlando rose while the night still shrouded the sky. Surrounding
him were empty ice cream tubs and discarded pizza boxes, and there
was a horrific tomato stain on the one of the cushions that he
decided to ignore until it was properly brought to his attention
(for instance, if he sat in it.) The most prominent change in his
surroundings was that Jamey wasn't there. She must have gone to bed,
woken before him by the thunderstorm that was, again, attacking
London by night. Deciding his back was in no condition to be
subjected to the floor for a night's sleep, he switched off the mute
TV and locked the doors and windows before shuffling into his pitch
black room. Collapsing into bed, Orlando felt a distinct change in
the room, as though something had been added. Turning slowly, he
saw the faint out line of Jamey facing him, breathing quietly and
deep in slumber. A small smile crept over his lips as he watched her
sleep, safe in the knowledge that things between them really were
fine. He stayed like this for hours, quietly watching her dream,
until his own dreams passed into his mind and he fell asleep,
without a care to the audition that faced him in the morning.



Chapter 30

Orlando padded through the apartment, croissant in one hand, coffee
in the other and re-read the note that Jamey had left him on the
table.

Morning! Croissants in cupboard, juice in fridge and tonight's
dinner in freezer - don't order pizza again! Tate rang and wanted
me to come in for an induction today, instead of next week, so might
not be back till late. GET A HAIRCUT.

Love, Me xx

P.S: You look gorgeous while you're sleeping!

Orlando read the last sentence again. And again. And one more time
to make sure he'd read it properly. 'She thinks I'm gorgeous!' Was
the only thought that played through his mind. Needless to say, a
huge grin was firmly planted on his lips for the rest of the morning.
 
	After a quick shower (in which he managed to spill Jamey's
'little container thingy with the tiny balls in' for the millionth
time) and a good few perfect recitals of his dialogue for audition,
Orlando dressed himself in what he thought was suitable audition
attire (black trousers, white shirt and black shoes), then changed
again back into what he was comfortable (jeans, black t-shirt,
black blazer for the formal touch) and fed the dog. Maude looked
decidedly jaded, so promised her that he'd give her a run round
the park when he got back. This perked her up no end, and even
caused a little accident on the kitchen floor, that was easily
rectifiable with some newspapers and a squirt of air freshener.
For someone who yesterday appeared suicidal, Orlando was looking
pretty positive. He'd managed to trick himself into a false sense
of security, and had persuaded himself (and Maude) that he wouldn't
get the job. Simple. He needn't worry, because, on a law of
averages, he'd failed too many auditions to succeed now, and he
was only doing this to please Fiona. 
	Audition time - 1.30pm.
	Current time - 11.15am.

	After walking through the centre of London, trying to waste
an hour and a half, Orlando finally succumbed to the orders of
Jess, Eliot and Jamey, by passing the hairdresser's for the
fourth time and finally going in and losing nearly an inch of
hair. The 'hair creator' (bloke with the scissors) seemed to be
so confident of his cutting abilities that he appeared more
interested in what was happening out of the window rather than
concentrating on what his hands were doing. Orlando could do
nothing more than hope for the best and pray that the blades
didn't visit the vicinity of his ears too closely. He was sat
in the hairdresser's chair for around twenty minutes, and by the
time his hair had been 'sculpted' (or just finished with wax) he
had to admit, it did look pretty good. Short back and sides,
with the longer length top pulled into a rough fin, it looked
capable to be re-created, so Orlando paid his way and left the
salon feeling pleased with himself. 
	Surprisingly, the next hour passed too quickly and before
he had time to think, Orlando was sat in a spacious entrance hall
of the Central London Conference and Business Centre. Strange
place for an audition, but it seemed to serve its purpose. He
was sat on a rather uncomfortable plastic chair in the hallway,
of which the entire front was glass. He felt like an animal in
a zoo, people would walk past and stare as though he were a
specimen held captive. He felt as though he were being prodded
and poked by their eyes. However, Orlando desperately tried to
push this to the back of his mind whilst he ran through his
lines that he knew as well as the back of his hand. It was
impossible to practise any more. 
He'd already registered his details with the unhelpful
receptionist, and said he was here to see a Peter Jackson and
'casting advisor' in room 4a. Her unnerving round eyes gave
him the once over, and in her high pitched, resentful voice,
she asked for him to be seated in the reception hall, and that
Mr Jackson will see him shortly. He was now sat in the
allocated reception hall with various slips of paper in front
of him. 3 copies of his dialogue, as requested, the letter he'd
received about the requirements for the audition, directions
and his personal details, (age, DOB, address, national
insurance number…it all seemed so technical) and the notes he'd
taken from Fi on the phone. She'd said he was in between two
others in audition times, and presumed that they weren't to be
kept together waiting, in case they…or…why were they kept
separate? Then again, Orlando wasn't really in a talkative
mood. He felt as though his jaw had been wired shut and that
if it was possible to open his mouth, he'd promptly vomit on
the highly polished tiles. So he kept his mouth firmly closed
and sat on the uncomfortable chair, running through his lines
until the high-pitched voice declared that 'Mr Jackson will see
you now'. He stood awkwardly and gathered the pieces of paper
in a crumpled mess, then walked towards the desk and asked in
a quiet voice where the room 4a was. Sighing, the receptionist
gave him directions (down the hall, first right, then take the
second door on the left) and went back to the important and
vital task of filing her nails. 

* * *

One hour later, Orlando walked out of the audition room. Fiona
had been wrong. He wasn't the middle auditionee. He was the last.
And they'd accepted him. 

After delivering his dialogue perfectly with a woman named
Emily, who was effortlessly pleasant and very considerate,
the rest of his audition had only taken half and hour, and
the rest was the director telling him the details of the
job, and the practicalities of flying out the next day, and
whether he was prepared, and if he needed anything, and
they'd assign a personal assistant to help him get settled
in, and the weapons training that would pretty much be
thrust upon him, so he hoped Orlando would be prepared to hit
the ground running…and it all washed over him, like he was
trapped under a wave in the ocean, gasping for breath. He sat
there politely and said his 'yes's' and 'no's' when prompted,
and forced a smile when Peter told a joke, and sincerely
thanked him for the opportunity to work . But it didn't sound
like his voice at all. It sounded cracked, and strained, as
though someone were forcing the words through his throat. The
formalities were conducted there and then, the contracts, the
signatures, the hand shaking…just like the day before, he felt
truly split. Half of him wanted to run around and jump and tell
every person he met in the street that he'd landed the most
unbelievable job. And yet, the other half wanted to curl up
and cry. 

He was now stood on the steps of the building all this had been
conducted in, still clutching the papers, the only thought
sprinting through his mind was that he had to get in contact
with Jamey somehow. He'd ring her, text her, go see her…but he
couldn't, because she had an all day induction for the job of
her dreams. He couldn't ruin it for her. So what should he do?
Tell Eliot and Jess and Andy, and, oh God, he'd have to tell
Sam. She'd be devastated. What would he say? Oh, by the way,
I'm off to New Zealand for the next year and a half, take care…
No, he had to ring Fi. And pack.  



Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

	Orlando was now stood in his front room. He'd not changed
since he got back, so he was still dressed in jeans and the
black t-shirt that now had a huge coffee stain down it.
Unsurprsingly, he'd been temporarily ignoring it. 
Boxes surrounded him, containing all of his things. Immediately
the image that sprung to mind was when Jamey moved in. They lived
amongst boxes for the first three weeks of her staying there,
and he'd become accustomed to them, they'd become a part of his
daily routine (get up, walk out of bedroom, fall over box, cross
to kitchen, stub toe on box, accidentally splash box when getting
out of the shower…) He smiled fondly at those thoughts which
would become nothing more than memories as soon as he'd gone. 
But things seem to have reversed. These boxes weren't so friendly
when they contained your own life. The next time these objects
saw the light of day would be the process of unpacking in a
foreign country. Which would be a matter of days away. However,
it wasn't the unpacking he was fearing most, nor the flight, or
even the daunting scene of huge movie sets, it was telling Jamey.
How do you articulate to the woman you love that you're leaving?
Not easy. 
It was late afternoon and half of the work was done. Clothes
packed, (it was harder than he first thought - you never realise
how much junk you keep until you have to fit it in three boxes)
important papers packed, videos, CD's…the stuff he immediately
needed such as clothes would be flown with him to New Zealand,
all other effects such as sentimentalities and all large objects
would be shipped and would arrive two weeks later. It was the
sorting out of said sentimentalities and little things that a
problem arose, that switched his mood from positive and upbeat
to sad and depressed. He realised what he would be leaving
behind. Half of his belongings were things he'd borrowed from
Sam, Andy, Eliot or Jess. And they needed returning. So he'd
called them all over to pick up anything that was theirs. And,
again, it was not going to be easy. 

* * *

	Sat in front of him on the sofa were Jess, Eliot and Andy.
Sam, he was told, would be here later. Three pairs of expectant,
confused eyes stared back anxiously as Orlando paced up and down
in front of them, choosing his words carefully.
	"Right. I have some news, and please don't interrupt me
because it would make things harder…"
	"What's wrong?"
Asked Jess, sounding slightly scared. Andy and Eliot nudged her
in the ribs for disrupting his flow and Orlando stopped pacing
momentarily to emphasise his point. 
	"Ok…right…"
He rubbed his hands together and jumped on the balls of his feet
to build up the courage to tell them. 
	"You know I had that audition today, for the Lord of the
Rings movie. Ok, and erm…I had it and…I got the job."
Eliot squealed and Jess could do no more than clap her hands
over her mouth as both girls attacked him with hugs and kisses
and congratulated him repeatedly until he gently persuaded them
off. 
	"Thanks, yes…I know…"
Was all he managed to force out once Andy had joined the
proceedings with manly slaps on the back and firm handshakes. 
	"Just sit back down a sec mate, there's more."
Once the three were seated again, Orlando felt his hands shake
as he looked at the best friends he would have to leave behind
for a year and a half. 
	"The producers of the movie want to make use of the
extended rehearsal time they've been granted, and as they'll be
shooting three films back to back, they need as much time as
they can get. They need all main characters on set as soon as 
ossible, which means I'll be starting in three days' time…"
Jess clapped her hands together excitedly, obviously completely
unaware of what else he was about to say. 
	"…In New Zealand." 
The clapping stopped. Orlando could feel his heart pounding it's
way against his rib cage, and swore that they could hear it
beating as it felt so loud.
	"They need me to fly out tomorrow morning for an eighteen
month shoot."
Utter quiet fell upon them, like a silent movie. All three sat
perfectly still, not saying a word, with the only movement being
a single tear rolling down Eliot's cheek. 
	"What, tomorrow? For a year and a half? In New Zealand?"
Asked Andy incredulously. Orlando could do nothing but nod. He
felt guilty in a way, as if he'd purposely caused someone pain.
	"Mate…"
Sighed Andy. Eliot got up and hugged Orlando tightly, crying
heavily into his shoulder. 
	"Hey, El, please don't cry. C'mon, it's only eighteen
months, it's not like I'm moving away forever."
	"I know…i-i-it's just that I-I-I-m so happy for you.
You've done it Orli."
She sobbed, hugging him harder. The other two still sat
quietly, but were intently looking upon Eliot and Orlando
embracing, the full realisation of him not being there for
the next year and a half fully hitting them. Andy, blinking,
piped up quickly.
	"Well, you know what we've got to do, we've got to
celebrate! There's no point being all upset about it, because
it's…it's a good thing, and it's Orli's big break, so let's 
not give him a sad send off!"
Jess agreed and Eliot broke away from their embrace, sniffing
and nodding. 
	"I'd love to, but I've not finished packing, and I've
got a flight to catch at 9am tomorrow, so I can't go out.
Sorry."
Orlando reasoned sadly.
"Pah! Who said anything about going out? I'll go get some
beer, and we'll give you a hand. No need to leave the house
my friend. We can't have all this crying the night before
you go!" 
Said Andy, excitedly. A small smile crept over Orlando's
lips as he realised that his friends would govern him to
the very last minute. 
	So, as Andy had proposed, he left the apartment with
everyone's monetary contributions totalling Ł63.20 (and a
bottle cap), and set himself to the task of buying as much
alcohol and food as was possible on such a budget. A matter
of minutes after he'd left, Eliot had started crying again,
but it was left to Jess to comfort her as Sam had arrived
and Orlando needed some quiet time to sort things out with
just the two of them. 


	Orlando had bribed her into the kitchen with the
premise of some 'news' that she had to know about. If he'd
dreaded telling his friends, this was a hundred times worse.
Sam was his sister, his best friend, his confidant, and his
rock, and she was another thing that he'd have to learn to
live without. 
	"Right, Sam, sit down."
He said, holding her shoulders squarely and pushing her
gently onto the kitchen stool. Her eyes, like his, were
dark and inquisitive, and immediately she could sense that
something didn't sit quite right. 
	"What is it? Is it Mum? Is she OK?"
	"Woah, yes she's fine. It's nothing bad. And I'm just
gonna come out with it, so don't interrupt, OK?"
She nodded slowly. Again, he was nervous. This is ridiculous,
Orlando thought to himself. 'It's just your sister. Deal with
it'. His palms were sweaty, his legs were slightly weak and
he could hear the blood rushing through his ears. 
	"Right. You know I had the audition for The Lord of the
Rings movie."
She nodded.
	"That was today. They…uh, Christ…they accepted me, and…
they've cast me as Legolas."
	"YES!"
She screamed, launching herself into his arms whilst jumping
up and down. 
	"Wait, Sam, please, just wait. The thing is…ok, they
want me on set in three days for an eighteen month shoot in
New Zealand."
Sam stopped jumping. Pushing him away slowly, her eyes
widened.
	"Fuck me, New Zealand?" 
Orlando nodded, backing away. He rested his arms behind him
on the kitchen counter and looked at from under a creased brow. 
	"Wow, Orli. That's amazing!"
	"Uh, but they…want me to fly out tomorrow morning." 
He said quietly. Sam's face didn't change. Still the eyes were
wide, still she was silent, arms at her sides, hands
unflinching. The only change within her was the smile that
spread across her lips. 
	"Oh Orli…"
She whispered. His eyes were the ones that watered now, seeing
how happy she was made him realise that he wasn't going to be
leaving her behind because her support was permanently behind
him, pushing him forward. He couldn't remember why he had been
so scared of telling her now, the early afternoon was faded
like a distant memory. 
	"You're gonna be famous!"
She squealed as the tears streaked down his face. 
	"Ah, I don't know, but…dammit am I scared."
He joked, though his intentions were purely serious. Sniffing,
he dried his eyes as she sat back down again. 
	"You should be, this is a huge project! If I wasn't so
happy for you, I would be so jealous!"
They spent the next half an hour together in the kitchen,
talking things over, some trivial, some more important, like
what he'd done about rent and bills and Guildhall. He'd rung
his tutors and Fiona as soon as he'd got home, and they were
more excited than he was back then. They all accepted that
such was the way of show business and that they were all proud
of him etc etc. The one person he hadn't called was his mother,
and he had wanted to wait for Sam to arrive till doing that
for emotional support. 
	"Listen, I haven't rung Mum yet, so I was wondering
if you could just hang on while I give her a quick call."
	"Sure, but it won't be a quick call. She'll have you
on there for hours." 
Orlando groaned and slipped the phone off it's receiver.
It was as he was punching in the numbers that he realised
how much his hands were still shaking. And so began the
hardest conversation he'd have for a long time. 



Chapter 32

Andy returned, an hour later, three shopping bags heavier
than he had been when he'd left and ready to recite the
details of his encounter at the supermarket with the
overweight redhead. However, the sight that greeted him,
he decided, didn't call for jokes. Eliot was recovering from
another burst of tears and it was Jess's turn to sink into
depression. They were discussing how they never thought
they'd all have to break up so early on, and that they'd
miss Orlando so much they were tempted to buy themselves
a plane ticket and go with him. The majority of their
conversation, however, settled around the unfortunate
circumstances with Jamey. They both knew how he felt, how
utterly arse over tits in love with her he was, and how
they would never be able to resolve it before he left. 
	Andy also decided that he couldn't deal with girly
sorrow right then, he was feeling bad enough himself at
losing his best friend, but preferred to leave his sadness
for when he was alone. Nudging through the kitchen door,
he wasn't quite prepared for the scene his eyes settled on.
Sam was sat in the corner, desperately trying to calm the
person on the other end of the line, and Orlando was sat
at the kitchen bar, head in hands, unmoving.
	"Hell, Orli, what's the matter?"
Orlando lifted his head to reveal tear stained cheeks and
dark glassy eyes. 
	"I just told my mum."
He croaked. 
	"I don't know whether I can do this."
Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, spilling over his lids and
splashing onto the table below.
'Not good' was all Andy could think. He hadn't been prepared
for this, and the sudden instinct that washed over him was
that he would start crying any moment too. A hard lump lodged
itself in his throat as he pulled over the stool next to his
best friend, and wrapped an arm round his shoulders.
	"Don't be so stupid. You're gonna go, Orli, because can
you imagine what you'd be missing if you didn't? You'd regret
it for the rest of your life, I know you would, I know you.
This is your opportunity to work with some of the greatest
actors and directors that have ever lived, and the only reason
you're shitting yourself is that it's all happening so
quickly..."
Andy could feel Orlando nodding beneath his arm, and sniffing
away tears.
	"I just…I don't want to leave all this behind.
Guildhall has been some of the best years of my life, and I
don't think I'm ready to give it all up."
He whispered.
	"What, did you think you'd stay there for the rest of
your life? You've been given the most amazing opportunity in
the world, and it couldn't come at a better time. Don't think
about what you're leaving behind, only about what's gonna meet
you on the other end of that flight, ok? And if you don't
take the job then I will."
Orlando sniffed a laugh and wiped his eyes on the corner of
his sleeve. Sitting up straight, he took a deep breath and
thanked Andy as Sam handed the receiver back over to Orlando.
He flashed a worried look at them both before taking it from
her.
	"Mum?…Yeah, I know. Please don't be sad…"

A short conversation followed, with reassurances being passed
down either end of the phone, his mother promising that she'd
be at the airport the next day, and that he should be sure he'd
got everything sorted, and Orlando reassuring that he'd packed
everything correctly and that he'd be taken care of properly
while he was out there. He eventually finished the call an
hour and fifteen minutes later, feeling much more positive
about the impending eighteen months. He was equipped with the
knowledge that not only his friends, but also his mother,
(whose opinion he valued higher than most) were all 100%
behind him. And that was a good feeling. 

	"Right."
Orlando declared, flinging himself fully into the swing of
packing. He'd sorted those things that belonged to others
into one corner of the room for them to be argued over amongst
his friends. Some of the objects that had turned up were
undoubtedly Andy's, such as the pink thong with a picture of
Boris Yeltsin on the front, the feather boa and the video copy
of Grease. Eliot had lent him the Complete Works of Shakespeare,
which, if Orlando was honest, he was loathe to return as it had
pretty much been his Bible for the past four years. Jess's skirt,
pair of green socks and photo album had been found lurking in
the back of his wardrobe, and out of politeness and respect,
he'd not flicked through the pictures (more than once.) Sam's
Nintendo, video player, half of her CD collection, broken radio
and coffee maker had all been scattered round his apartment,
and were now being packed into boxes for storage.
	"Ah! You found it!"
Squealed Andy, jumping up and down.
	"Grease! You said you were only going to borrow it for
the weekend…"
He sulked. Jess, Eliot and Sam suppressed giggles as they
packed their own belongings into boxes. Orlando, at the other
side of the room, was clearing out his shelves and cupboards
when the phone rang. Propping the phone between his shoulder
and ear whilst still hurling books and china into boxes, he
heard Jamey's voice echo down the phone. 
	"Hey Jamey! How did work go?"
Sam, Eliot, Andy and Jess all stopped dead in their tracks to
see if he was going to tell Jamey about the successful
audition. They all were listening keenly to the one sided
conversation, sensing a tenseness about their friend's voice. 
	"You'll be home at 7.30. All right, see you then. Yup.
Bye."
	"Well that was quick."
Remarked Jess.
	"Why didn't you tell her?"
Orlando turned away from them and continued to pack.
	"I'd rather do it…alone. Y'know, when you guys had gone
maybe?"
	"How do you think she'll take it?" Asked Sam, sitting down
on an empty box and falling throughit. 
	"I don't know…I think she'll be a bit pissed off,
actually. The prospect of having to pay full rent, bills and
maintenance wouldn't exactly excite me either…"
He, too, sat down and reached for his bottle of beer perched
on a box labelled 'More stuff'. Struggling to get back up,
Sam said
	"Yeah, but I mean…what about you going, never mind bills,
y'know, she might not take that too well…GOD DAMMIT, someone
help me up!" 
Her legs, flailing in the air above her head, were hoisted out
of the way by Andy who graciously lifted her out of the crumpled
mess. 
	"Thanks for the moral support there, sis. As if I'm not
worried enough. I'll meet that bridge when I cross it…or
something."
He shook his head and took another deep gulp from his beer. 
	"Your hair looks nice though."
Encouraged Andy quietly, but was interrupted by Jess laughing
evilly in the corner. 
	"What the hell was that meant to be?!"
Enquired Orlando, standing up and stretching. His tall frame
seemed to be slightly weaker than usual, Sam noticed, as
though his emotional doubts were physically affecting him.
They all gathered around Jess, who had a crumpled box resting
on her knees. Inside the box were piles of photos of all sizes,
some black and white, some in colour, but almost all were of
the group who were looking at them. The one picture that was
held in Jess' hand was of their first day at Guildhall, outside
the building where their first apartment was. Orlando, Andy,
Sam, Jess and Eliot were all sat on the stone steps of the
building, beers in hands, smiling at the camera. 
	"Aw hell, that was our first day…"
Cooed Andy affectionately. 
	"…But, Orli, mate, look at your hair!"
Orlando blushed a shade of crimson and pulled the jumper he
was wearing over his face to disguise it. Orlando's hair, in
the picture was curly and long. Very long. On the back of the
picture, someone had listed their names, apart from Orlando's,
who was referred to as 'Afro Ken'.
	"It looks like there's something nesting on top of your
head!"
Giggled Eliot, as her and Sam collapsed in laughter on the
floor. Picture after picture was pulled out of the box, of
the group on outings at the beach, or at various pubs and
bars, or just hanging out at someone's flat. 
	"And here's Andy at my 20th"
Declared Jess proudly, as she held up a photo of Andy in
red fishnet tights, a kilt and a t-shirt with the cast of
Sesame Street emblazoned across the front. His lips were
painted a lurid shade of purple, and he was blowing a kiss
at the camera. 
	"Gorgeous, mate, really beautiful."
Said Orlando, rubbing his best friend's head affectionately. 
"And my 21st."
announced Jess again. Similarly, Andy was wearing an outfit
usually reserved for those who patrolled the streets at night
asking gentlemen for 'business'. This time, blue Lycra
leggings were the order of the day, with a dustbin sack for a
boob tube and a wig resembling Orlando's hair in the first
picture. He was also performing a questionable act on a bottle
of Bud that for those with a sensitive disposition could be
offended by. 
	"Andy, can I have a word?"
Whispered Orlando as the girls continued to reminisce over
pictures in the living room. The guys escaped into the kitchen
and sat themselves at the breakfast bar.
	"I've hit a bit of a problem mate, and I need your
help."
Admitted Orlando scratching the back of his neck.
	"Shoot."
Replied Andy, gesturing with his hands.
	"OK, the production company have told me that there
would be some big problems with taking animals over to New
Zealand, not only the flight, but legal shit…so I was
wondering, seeing as you love her so much, whether you'd
mind looking after Maude for me while I'm gone. I mean,
obviously, I'll leave you some cash for food and…"
	"'Course I will! Me and Maude will have a damn good
time with you gone. She's an independent woman now, Orli and
I think she needs a good strong man to look after her. I'll
be honoured." 
	"Oh, thank you so much."
Orlando sighed tiredly. 
	"I don't really want to leave her, but it doesn't look
as though I have much choice. The accommodation out there is
strictly no pets, and I doubt I'll have time to walk her…
thanks Andy. For everything."
Orlando looked at his best friend and sincerely meant what
he had just said. He really did thank him. Not just for what
he'd just agreed to, but for him being there over everything
in the past few years. It's amazing how much you can convey
in one look. 
	They stood up and embraced briefly, in a masculine
slap-on-the-back type way, until Orli's eyes settled on the
clock on the kitchen wall. It read 7.25pm. Packing certainly
does pass the time. 
	"You're gonna have to get out of here if I'm to
'break the news' to Jamey."
He said gravely, but as soon as the words slipped between
his lips, the crunching of keys fiddling the lock sounded
throughout the apartment and Jamey arrived home. 
	"God dammit, that woman's punctual."
Said Andy, amazed, as Orlando fled through the kitchen into
the front room. 
	"Moving out are we?"
Joked Jamey as she surveyed the scene of cardboard boxes
in their wake. The set of grim smiles that met her was
interrupted by Orlando, putting on the best act of
cheerfulness he could possibly force given the circumstances. 
	"Just having a bit of a clear out. Returning stuff that
I'd borrowed, y'know… Anyway, how was your first day at work?"
She pushed a few strands of dark hair out of her eyes and
sighed.
	"Very busy. Bloody tiring…but great. It's good to be
doing stuff again."
Orlando shot significant looks at Sam, Eliot, Andy and Jess,
signalling for them to leave. This promptly spurred them into
stuffing the remains of their possessions into cardboard
boxes, concentrating very hard on the task in hand.
	"Jay, have you eaten?"
Asked Orlando, crossing the wreckage to give her an
encouraging hug. Throwing her bag into a far corner, Jamey
sighed.
	"No, but I'm not that hungry. You don't mind if I go
nap for a while do you? I'm knackered."
Orlando immediately relaxed. No Jamey meant no hassle for
the evening, which also meant he could figure out the best
way of telling her he was leaving.
	"No, sure, go for it. I'll get pizza in later. Do you
want me to wake you?"
Jamey hugged him, unaware of everybody else watching with
tears in their eyes. 
	"No, it's alright, looks like you've got your hands
full here. I'll set my alarm for about 9 ish. Night then."
She called behind her as she walked into her room and shut
the door quietly. 
	"Jesus, Orlando, how can you leave her?"
Andy whispered.
	"I don't know."
Orlando whispered back.


Eliot, Andy, Sam and Jess left about ten minutes after Jamey
went to bed, all promising that they'd be at the airport for
his flight tomorrow morning. The girls couldn't help but cry
as they left, insisting through thick voices that it was
because they were happy for him and that they weren't sad
tears at all. 
	Orlando spent the rest of the evening by himself with
his many tangled thoughts. He packed all he could as quietly
as he could with the fear of waking Jamey who appeared to be
sleeping soundly behind closed doors. Packing was, he found,
the worst part of moving anywhere. So much stuff had to fit
into such little boxes that he was forced to leave at least
half of his belongings in the store cupboard. After an hour
and half of sorting, arranging, stuffing and cramming into
boxes, Orlando rolled back onto his haunches and surveyed
the scene. Unfamiliar cardboard filled the room, huge shapes
full of his life that he wouldn't see again until he was in
a foreign country, out packing it all into a different house.
Maude sat tiredly next to him and observed the boxes with
about as much interest as if she were watching paint dry. 
	However, it was not the boxes that were fit to bursting
that mattered to Orlando, it was his mind. His head seemed
to swirl with doubts, worries, questions and they all pushed
against his eyes, forcing themselves out in small, hot tears. 
	"Don't", he tried to tell himself "don't bloody cry,
not now". But the words didn't work and the tears continued
to fall, quickly and silently down his cheeks until they
were pushed away by a corner of his faded shirt. He didn't
want leave this flat, he didn't to leave Maude, Jamey, his
friends, his Mum…It seemed as though he was leaving so much
certainty in his life behind for a life full of doubt. It
could be the make or break of a possible career, and God
knows he'd been told enough times that it would be the
experience of a lifetime and that he'd be stupid to pass
it up, but still…he was leaving his whole life here…
	Maude pushed her nose into his knee for attention,
which finally shook Orlando out of his daze. He looked
down at the whining dog staring mournfully at him and
wiped away a last tear.
	"Let's go for a walk."

* * *

	After running twice around Hyde Park in the freezing
cold, the duo were finally beaten by pouring rain. Orlando
walked Maude back to the apartment feeling thoroughly worn
out but not as emotional as an hour ago, and decided to pick
up Chinese instead of pizza for Jamey and his dinner. Finally
getting home, arms laden with food at around 9.15, Orlando
found the apartment exactly as he'd left it. And empty.
Assuming Jamey was in the shower, he found a clean towel
from the ironing pile in the kitchen and dried himself whilst
padding through the apartment, turning on the TV and lights.
But she wasn't in the shower. And she wasn't in the bath, nor
was she in the study or the kitchen. She was still in bed,
sleeping silently. Nudging open the door quietly, Orlando
stepped inside the darkened room, and was guided to her
bedside by the light of the moon shining weak through the
window. A soft silhouette of her was picked out against the
light, her chest rising and falling slowly to the rhythm of
her dreams. Orlando knelt next to the bed and placed the
towel on the floor as he studied the features of his sleeping
angel. He tried to memorise every last detail of her - long,
dark eyelashes, soft cheeks flushed by the heat of the room
and those small, rose lips parted for every breath. Darting
his eyes towards the alarm clock, he saw the time displayed
as 8.20. The batteries had run out which was why she hadn't
woken. A small sigh escaped Orlando's lips as he carefully
placed a hand on hers and felt the warmth of her skin. He
tried to imagine life without her, just for one second,
how life would be without her presence in his thoughts,
in everything he did. The worst thing was, he realised he
wouldn't have to imagine because he was going to have to
live without her. Starting tomorrow. 

	Orlando walked through his apartment, packing the
very last of everything whilst Jamey slept, right down to
the novelty Easter socks somebody had once bought him that
he was too attached to to leave behind. It was 11.45 before
everything was finally packed and ready to go and Jamey
still hadn't woken. Standing with Maude next to him in the
kitchen, Orlando wrenched the top off another bottle of beer
and knelt down beside the dog that was happily chewing one
of his socks. 
	"So I guess this is it, then eh? The dynamic duo are
no more."
Maude paused for a moment and looked up into his eyes.
Drooling on Orlando's hand, she whimpered quietly and
resumed the destruction of the sock.
	"You're right. Life is just a wet sock, isn't it?"
He replied, swigging from his bottle. He rubbed his eyes
and got up slowly, surveying the kitchen. It had been his
home for the past four years, had been vomited on, had
seen some of the best parties that any Guildhall student
would be honoured to be invited to and had been Orlando's
bed on many occasions when he simply couldn't be bothered
to make it to the bedroom. This place held more memories
than he wanted to remember right then, so making his way
through the apartment, he sat down at the dining table
with one sheet of blank paper, a pen and the bottle of
beer. Taking a deep breath, he wrote carefully at the
top 'Dear Jamey'. 



Chapter 34

The warm water ran freely down her back as Jamey finally
rinsed the last of the shampoo out of her hair and into
her eyes. 
	"Oh, buggery shit that stings…ah…Jesus."
She switched the water off and stepped out, pressing a
towel to her eyes to try and stop them streaming from the
shampoo tears. 
	"This is not going to be a good day…"
She sighed to herself as she towelled down and changed
into black sweat pants and white t-shirt that immediately
became soaked by her mess of wet hair. A hungry rumble
growled round her stomach as she pulled her hair into a
loose plait. 'Toast.' Was her first thought. 'Toast and
Marmite.' 
	"Orli, have we got any bread and sewage left?"
She called through the flat.
	"Orli?"
Assuming he was out, Jamey decided to venture and forage
for food herself. 'Morning Maude' she called again. No
usual bark, she thought. Orli must have taken her for a
walk. She padded through the apartment, flicking on the
TV absent mindedly as she passed the dining table. A note
was left on the side, addressed 'Jammers', with another
envelope next to it. She kept an eye on the weather at
the end of the news on TV whilst opening the note left
for her. 'More than likely a shopping list' she said
out loud, and immediately began compiling one in her mind…
milk, yoghurts, sweet corn,…Dear Jamey…fish for Saturday's
dinner…they say you should let…
	'Hold it.' She said to herself and stopped the
mental tour of the supermarket. This isn't a shopping
list. Neither is it a note. It's a letter. 

Dear Jamey,

They say you should let sleeping dogs lie, (and I honestly
don't mean to compare you to a dog. Shit. Sorry.) so I
thought I'd let you sleep in after the long day you had
yesterday. They also say that the early bird catches the
worm, so unsuccessfully avoiding a piss poor cliché, by
the time you read this, I'll be gone. 

I've got a lot of explaining to do and I don't think I
could do it face to face. Writing it all out will be hard
enough, so please just bear with me.

Firstly, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You've
overcome so much and have made out of your life what you want.
I admire you for that and hope you'll never lose the ability
to look on the bright side when the shit hits the fan. 

Secondly, I have some things to tell you. I had the audition
yesterday for Lord of the Rings which earned me the part of
Legolas. If I had the confidence you have in me, it might
not have come as such a shock! I think the hardest part
that I've had to come to terms with is that the shoot is
stretched over eighteen months in New Zealand. The reason
I'm not there telling you this right now is that they
requested everyone on set in three days to make the most
of extended rehearsal time or something. I'm catching a
plane at 9.30am. I know it's a long shoot, but I will be
back to claim my flat as often as possible, although I
doubt I'll be allowed home much. The apartment is yours
for as long as you need it, and you needn't worry about
Maude as Andy's got that sorted. On the table is six months'
rent and food money for as long as it lasts you. I'll be
sending money back as often as possible as I don't like
the idea of you having to pay all the bills, rent and food
by yourself. 

I'm sorry that I didn't tell you all this face to face, but
I do have reasons with which I'm going to try and excuse
myself with.

One of them is that I'm too cowardly, the other is that
I didn't want to and the third is that I love you too much.
That was the other thing I had to tell you.

Bloody hell, this is hard. 

Living with you has been the happiest, most amazing part
of my life I've ever had. You've always been there to make
me laugh, to support me and to help me with whatever I've
needed, whenever I've needed it. It's also been
unbelievably hard as I've fallen in love with you. I
should have told you every day from when we first met, but
I don't think you feel the same, and I value our friendship
too much to destroy it on possibilities and what if's. I
wanted to tell you so many times how I felt but I thought
you ought to know (even if it is a bit late) in the very
likely event that Andy, Sam, Eliot or Jess were to say
anything. 

I also want you to know that I don't regret kissing you
that night and that it truly wasn't the drink that prompted
it. I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, I honestly never
meant to cause offence. The only reason I said it was the
drink was because I thought you were angry with me, which
you have every right to be. 

I'm going to find the next year and a half bloody difficult.
I'll be missing my friends and my mum, my house, and
obviously Maude. Bless her. But more than everything else,
I'm going to miss seeing your face every day and I'm going
to miss that feeling of safety falling asleep with the
knowledge that you're in the next room. I'm going to miss
our late nights watching trashy TV (I don't know if they
have that Down Under) and eating pizza and ice cream until
we throw up. I'm going to miss watching you paint, when
you look happiest and contented. I'm going miss our long
pointless conversations about the smell of bananas and
where hair comes from. 

And I'm going to miss you.

I don't expect any pity or sympathy because I'm being given
an opportunity that millions of other people would die for.
I'm going to be working on a fucking huge film in new Zealand
with bloody brilliant actors. I know there'll be times when
I'll enjoy it so much I won't want it to end. I also know
there'll be times when all I want is you. Like right now. 

I also don't expect you to feel the same way, and I don't
assume that you'll ever want to talk to me again, because
I've been a complete twat. I understand that totally. I
don't particularly want to, but I do. I don't blame you for
feeling angry or confused or whatever. I'm sorry if I've hurt
you in anyway.

I hope your job goes well and that you'll be successful in
everything you do. I also hope that you'll find a man who
deserves you, because you the most beautiful, amazingly
intelligent, funny, kind hearted woman I've ever met. I also
hope he makes you feel like I do when you look at me. Or
used to.

All my love, forever and always,

Orli
xx

	Jamey sat down slowly in the chair behind her and
clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the heaving sobs
from escaping. Three words repeated themselves over and
over in her mind. Those three words she had longed to hear
for so long. 'He loves me'.

At that very moment, Jamey knew that she should've told
him how she felt, how she'd felt for a long time. Fucking
ironic, she sniffed, two people are utterly in love and
they don't know it. Panic set in. What time was it? She
glanced at the clock - 8.15. It's at least 20 minutes to
the airport, and what would she even do once she got there?
Ask him politely to not go, and to leave this life changing
opportunity to stay with little old her? She could do nothing.
Jamey knew how she should be feeling, she should be elated
for him, Orlando had finally succeeded in what he loved
more than anything else, but all she could feel was utterly
ripped apart, as though some part of her was missing.
Orlando was what was missing and it would be selfish and
stupid of her to ask anything of him now. But she could wait,
it was only for eighteen months. Only a year and a half to
wait for the man you love. People have waited longer. But
what if her didn't love her the same in those eighteen
months?

Jamey sat back in her chair and let the tears succeed
each other as she cried heavily into the nearest pillow
that was fragranced unmistakeably with the scent of Orlando. 
It's true. You never know what you've got till it's gone. 


Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

	Orlando sank back in his seat and sighed as the
pilot announced,	
"Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to welcome
you aboard this Boeing 747. Our flight today will be
approximately eleven hours to Singapore where we will
re-fuel and let you stretch your legs for a couple of
hours, then a further seven and a half hours to New
Zealand…"

Eleven hours stuck on a plane, sat in the same seat.
Hardly the most exciting experience in the world. He
was seated in the middle of a set of three seats, and
those either side of him were still empty. He sincerely
hoped there would be someone interesting next to him to
take his mind off Jamey. All he'd done throughout the
morning was think of what he was leaving behind. Jamey,
all his friends, his beloved Maude…

Andy, Jess, Eliot and Sam picked him up at 5.30am for
the taxi ride to the airport, for a three hour check in.
Ridiculous, three hours before the plane leaves, stuck
in a maze of airport shops with ludicrously highly priced
'holiday' items, such as three way foreign plug adaptors.
Stupid. Orlando had bought three, just in case.

His friends and mum had waited with him for these three
hours, desperately trying to put him in a good mood and
to make just that little more optimistic than he was.
His spirits were lifted, however, when Andy got carried
away on the horizontal moving walkways and fell over.
He was dragged for at least three minutes between two 
people's absurdly large suitcases before being deposited
in a heap in Terminal three. As Andy called it, 'Pure Class'.  
But then he had been placed harshly back in the real
world when it came to saying goodbye. Tears ran freely
as they hugged each other, presents being bestowed left
right and centre, along with promises of 'you'll ring as
soon as you get there, right?' and 'make sure you eat
properly on the flight' and even some 'Oh, my baby's all
grown up now…' (Unsurprisingly, that was his own mother).
The hardest part was physically walking away from them all,
by himself, through the departures gate, where he was
unsure where he was going, alone. That one word still
rang through Orlando's ears as an armful of duty free
bags were thrown into the seat next to him, nearly taking
one of his eyes out. 
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, I've almost killed the man I'm going
to be trapped with for then next eleven hours. Are you ok?"
A small, but overly enthusiastic Scottish voice asked. 
	"Don't worry about it, I'm fine thanks."
The owner of the voice slumped down beside him and held out
his hand in a handshake. 
	"My name's Billy and I'll be your flight companion for
today."
Orlando was momentarily relieved of his depressed cloud as
he realised that his flight might not be as boring as he'd
hoped.
	"I'm Orlando, nice to meet you."
They shook hands and each did a quick double take as they
realised who the other was. Orlando could vaguely remember
Fiona telling him that one of his co-stars (he had to get
used to that word. He would be co-starring in a film.
Headfuck or what?) would be on the same flight as him,
name of…
	"Billy Boyd?"
	"Orlando Bloom?"
They asked simultaneously.
	"You're an elf!"
Billy shrieked, eyes wide and laughing. 
	"Ah, man, this is going to be so much fun! We're
going to New Zealand!" 
Orlando's niggling feeling of grief stayed hidden for a
while, as the two chatted and discussed how they found out
about getting the parts. The time slipped by them, and
after twenty minutes of waiting, the plane still hadn't
taken off. Billy began to twitch.
	"Oooh, this is not good. Not good at all."
He whispered, breathing deeply. Orlando looked at him
curiously.
	"What's the matter? You alright?"
Billy nodded and took another deep breath. 
	"It's just that I'm a bit claustrophobic and I'm
scared of flying. Just give me a few minutes. I need to
take my mind off it, that's all. Talk to me."
	"Erm…ok. Right. Well, uh…what do you want me to say?"
	"Anything…family, friends, girlfriends? Or
boyfriends, I'm not judgemental "
He replied, eyes still closed, hands gripped on the
armrests. Orlando sighed. He'd managed to have Jamey half
off his mind for the past twenty five minutes, and the
realisation of her not being there shocked him again.
	"Girlfriends…right."
He said hazily. Billy snatched a concerned look in his
direction and coughed.
	"Penny for your thoughts."
Orlando sighed.
	"I'm leaving a girl behind…not just any girl…the
girl. It's a case of unrequited love, I suppose…"
	"Spit it out."
Billy urged.
	"Well, her name's Jamey and we lived together for
just under a year…"
Orlando commenced a quiet rendition of everything that had
happened in the past year, during which Billy relaxed a
little and unclasped his hands. 
	"…And so I left the note on the table and went."
Billy sniffed as Orlando looked at him. 
	"And the longer we are sat on this plane, the more
tempted I am to get off it and go home. How much longer do we
have to wait?"
He asked a passing airhostess with a face of makeup that
looked as though it had been applied with gardening tools.
She incoherently mumbled something about late passengers or
luggage or dials or something and scuttled off, nearly tripping
on her skyscraper heels. 
	"Harsh decision, mate, but I agree with your friend,
Andy, was it?"
Orlando nodded.
	"If you didn't go for this, you would regret it every
second of everyday. And we're not going to be away forever.
She'll be there when you get back."
	"Will she though? That's the point. I don't even know
if she loves me or…"
A thick Irish accent interrupted Orlando mid sentence
	"Excuse me, is this seat taken sir?"
Orlando motioned, without looking, for the person to sit, 
hilst Billy wiped away a tear. 
	"That's so sad, like something out of…"
	"I said excuse me, is this seat taken?"
'How rude!' Billy mouthed, as Orlando whipped round in his seat
	"I said yes, didn't I?…"
He stopped dead in his tracks and nearly choked when confronted
with the person in front him. 
	"Jamey…What…"
He mumbled, shaking. Jamey stood in front of him, a single tear
running down her cheek. In her hand was the letter that he had
written only hours previously. 
	"I always knew that accent would come in handy one day."
She joked quietly. 
	"What are you doing here? The plane…what's happening?"
He stuttered again.
	"Do you really believe that you could get rid of me this
easily?"
She said, holding the letter up. She had started to cry. 
	"I'm sorry, Jamey. I really am, you have every reason to
hate me for what I've done…"
	"Orlando, shut up and listen."
She butted in and sat down.
	"I love you so much. I've loved you since that whole day
we spent together, since we kissed. I read the letter and knew
that this was the right thing to do. I am perfectly aware of
the fact that what I'm doing is stupid and impulsive, but I
don't think I'd be able to live with myself without telling
you how I feel. And I figured the only way to do that is by
this…"
She held up a wallet with a plane ticket in. On the ticket was
printed clearly the details of the flight she was on. Return
date of six months later. 
	"Jamey, are you sure you want to do this? What about
your job?"
	"I've already quit. You mean more to me than a job,
Orlando. I used the money you left me to, plus a little extra
to get this ticket, I've got savings to help me once I get out
there, Andy's got the flat and I can control the bills and
finances from New Zealand. I'll have to go back in six month's
time to renew my ticket…
	"Is there anything you haven't thought of?"
Orlando asked incredulously.
	"Only what you're going to say. Because the only thing
I've had to go on is this piece of paper…"
	"I mean every single thing I wrote in that. And right
now I mean it more than ever. Are you sure you want to do this?
She looked him straight in the eye and whispered.
	"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
Her dark eyes allowed a single tear to trace a line down her
cheek. Orlando leant closer and wiped away the tear with his
thumb as he gently kissed her, a kiss so tender, it left
almost no trace on her lips. As the pilot announced that
everybody was aboard and therefore the plane would now depart
for sunny New Zealand, Orlando pulled Jamey in and held her
tight. With a grin, he whispered in her ear, 'We're going to
New Zealand. Together."



                             THE END
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