Eternally North
Page 113
As an actor, Tudor's response must be well-calculated and thought through: one that protected his family, his career, the trial. There were so many different things at stake, not to mention the fact that the topic of all the hype was such a sensitive area. We were expecting his publicist, Kate, to arrive in Calgary from LA so she could advise Tudor on what to do next. Until then, there was nothing we could do.
Drawing on both my Scottish and English heritages to cope with the situation, I made cups of tea laced with whiskey for everyone, and the six of us sat around the fire, no-one saying a thing.
Henry broke the uncomfortable silence first, after shifting back and forth on his chair for near enough the last thirty minutes. "What are you planning on doing, Tudor? What do you think you will say to the press?"
Samantha moved to sit next to Henry, hands on his tense shoulders, and Tudor pulled me onto his lap and began stroking my hair. It calmed him.
He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in his personal thoughts. "I don't know. Do I ask the media for privacy and not say anything on the topic of abuse, but have it hanging over my head for the rest of my career? Or do I come clean and admit to what we all went through? But then that will leave me exposed, and I hate the idea of that; the world knowing all about us when we've kept it so well-hidden for so long." He laid his forehead on my shoulder, defeated. "I have no idea what to do for the best."
He gripped me tightly around the waist and groaned. I drew back and lifted his chin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on that head?”
He looked sheepishly to the others in the room, hesitant to talk. I looked in his eyes and urged him to explain. His head slumped forwards. “I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it to the world, it’s all too raw. My family needed the next few months to heal, to adjust. I was willing to talk about it all in the future with the trial, but now?”
I squeezed his hand in sympathy. He fixed his broken gaze on me. “Why, just because I act on a screen, do I have to have my entire life made public? Why should the world get to read about our problems while having their toast and coffee on a Sunday morning? Just a hot topic, gossip material to mention in passing to colleagues on scheduled breaks at work. Can you imagine it? Our past being the topic of conversation to some middle-aged couple in God knows where: ‘Oh honey, have you seen this article about Tudor North, the actor? His father broke his jaw and fractured his collarbone with a chair leg when he was fifteen for spilling soda on the kitchen floor. Anyway, what time are we meeting your parents for lunch?’ That’s my life, our lives, that they are discussing. Why do people need to pick at every God-damned part of me just because I act? Our lives are not entertainment. I’m the actor. My family didn’t ask to be given the lead roles in the latest f**ked-up celebrity scandal.”
I felt sick listening to him casually drop his past sufferings into his angry tirade. I could feel my eyes misting at the description of his injuries – a chair leg for spilling his drink? Good God! What else must he have gone through?
I know celebrities sign up for the invasion into their personal lives when they pursue a Hollywood career, but surely there was a line that must be drawn, especially dealing with issues like this.
I heard a heavy, pain-filled sigh and turned to face Tudor. He was staring at me with regret in his eyes and pulled me closer into his embrace. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I shouldn’t have lost my cool and told you about my past in such a way.”
I sniffed. “Why are you apologising to me?”
“Because I upset you with what I said.”
“That’s because I find it hard to hear how you were treated when you were a child. I can’t stand what he did to you. What he is still doing to you. It’s like he has this hold over you all, I just feel so helpless. I don’t know how to make it better.”
His eyes lost some of their tightness, and he whispered in my ear, “You’re helping me, Sunshine. Just by being you.” He shifted back against the chair, tucking me around his body like a comforter.
Henry coughed to catch his attention. "I'm sick of dealing with all his shit, bro. Tash is right, how long can he possibly do this to us? Maybe if we’re honest and show him to be the scumbag that we know he is, then he'll have to leave us alone, he'll have no hold over us anymore. It might be, I don’t know, freeing."
Samantha, obviously proud of her husband, kissed his cheek and stared at him in adoration. I had a lot of respect for Samantha; she had been supporting Henry for years and was clearly his rock. We had both fallen in love with the brothers North, and we both simply had to help them get through this. We were both strong, modern women, and I was certain that we could all do it – that we could face the situation with poise and dignity. We would make Emmeline Pankhurst proud.
Drawing on both my Scottish and English heritages to cope with the situation, I made cups of tea laced with whiskey for everyone, and the six of us sat around the fire, no-one saying a thing.
Henry broke the uncomfortable silence first, after shifting back and forth on his chair for near enough the last thirty minutes. "What are you planning on doing, Tudor? What do you think you will say to the press?"
Samantha moved to sit next to Henry, hands on his tense shoulders, and Tudor pulled me onto his lap and began stroking my hair. It calmed him.
He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in his personal thoughts. "I don't know. Do I ask the media for privacy and not say anything on the topic of abuse, but have it hanging over my head for the rest of my career? Or do I come clean and admit to what we all went through? But then that will leave me exposed, and I hate the idea of that; the world knowing all about us when we've kept it so well-hidden for so long." He laid his forehead on my shoulder, defeated. "I have no idea what to do for the best."
He gripped me tightly around the waist and groaned. I drew back and lifted his chin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on that head?”
He looked sheepishly to the others in the room, hesitant to talk. I looked in his eyes and urged him to explain. His head slumped forwards. “I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it to the world, it’s all too raw. My family needed the next few months to heal, to adjust. I was willing to talk about it all in the future with the trial, but now?”
I squeezed his hand in sympathy. He fixed his broken gaze on me. “Why, just because I act on a screen, do I have to have my entire life made public? Why should the world get to read about our problems while having their toast and coffee on a Sunday morning? Just a hot topic, gossip material to mention in passing to colleagues on scheduled breaks at work. Can you imagine it? Our past being the topic of conversation to some middle-aged couple in God knows where: ‘Oh honey, have you seen this article about Tudor North, the actor? His father broke his jaw and fractured his collarbone with a chair leg when he was fifteen for spilling soda on the kitchen floor. Anyway, what time are we meeting your parents for lunch?’ That’s my life, our lives, that they are discussing. Why do people need to pick at every God-damned part of me just because I act? Our lives are not entertainment. I’m the actor. My family didn’t ask to be given the lead roles in the latest f**ked-up celebrity scandal.”
I felt sick listening to him casually drop his past sufferings into his angry tirade. I could feel my eyes misting at the description of his injuries – a chair leg for spilling his drink? Good God! What else must he have gone through?
I know celebrities sign up for the invasion into their personal lives when they pursue a Hollywood career, but surely there was a line that must be drawn, especially dealing with issues like this.
I heard a heavy, pain-filled sigh and turned to face Tudor. He was staring at me with regret in his eyes and pulled me closer into his embrace. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I shouldn’t have lost my cool and told you about my past in such a way.”
I sniffed. “Why are you apologising to me?”
“Because I upset you with what I said.”
“That’s because I find it hard to hear how you were treated when you were a child. I can’t stand what he did to you. What he is still doing to you. It’s like he has this hold over you all, I just feel so helpless. I don’t know how to make it better.”
His eyes lost some of their tightness, and he whispered in my ear, “You’re helping me, Sunshine. Just by being you.” He shifted back against the chair, tucking me around his body like a comforter.
Henry coughed to catch his attention. "I'm sick of dealing with all his shit, bro. Tash is right, how long can he possibly do this to us? Maybe if we’re honest and show him to be the scumbag that we know he is, then he'll have to leave us alone, he'll have no hold over us anymore. It might be, I don’t know, freeing."
Samantha, obviously proud of her husband, kissed his cheek and stared at him in adoration. I had a lot of respect for Samantha; she had been supporting Henry for years and was clearly his rock. We had both fallen in love with the brothers North, and we both simply had to help them get through this. We were both strong, modern women, and I was certain that we could all do it – that we could face the situation with poise and dignity. We would make Emmeline Pankhurst proud.
