Expiration dates: A Series (No2)

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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: For the record ____________________________________________________

The business stuff wasn't you and me. That was you and mum. I'd be lying if I said she didn't take it badly.

After you fired her, she never spoke about you, not to me anyway. It was Clive who told me she wanted you there at the funeral. I didn't know where to start, but Clive said she always knew where you were. According to Clive, she thought of you as her greatest discovery and her greatest disappointment in equal measure. Clive was the one who told me how she had wished it had been different and that she had protected you from "The movie star". Joan was never excellent at showing emotions. I mean, this was the woman that forbid me from calling her mother in public.

When you went to La La land, I, too, felt cast aside and forgotten.

I remember coming over to see you, and I just seemed in the way.

The tipping point for me was at that ridiculous party in some tacky Beverley Hills home and some silicone blow-up doll asking me for another drink.

She thought I was serving staff!

I could see you from across the room, surrounded by "The movie stars" friends. You looked like a little boy, so apologetic, desperate even. You just weren't the Smith I knew. It was like your light had gone out.

If I'm entirely transparent, I felt sorry for you.

I don't even think we even said goodbye. I just went back to my hotel and got the first flight home the next day, and that was that.

The next thing I know, mum is on the phone sinking another gin martini, telling me how you fired her by email or more your new American agents fired her via email. That was the last time she spoke your name to me.

I wish it weren't the way it was. But we can't rewrite history. Perhaps I could have been a better friend as well.

An English and History teacher? How the hell did that happen?

If only the primrose hill crew could see you now.

I can't imagine you as a teacher. I still remember us doing vodka shots in china white and dancing badly on the bar.

For the record, to hear you say, Sorry, yes, that would have been enough to take away everything.

Are you Happy now, Smith?

Love,

Caggie.

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To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject:Dancing badly, Vodka shots and new beginnings.

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Those parties. You know I was so deep in the madness of L.A. at that point. I wasn't myself. I just felt empty, like there was nothing left to give.

Just some trophy that was being wheeled around from one party to the next, always making sure never to be too funny, to be too forward, to be.

I felt like I was drowning most days. It took everything I had to keep my head above water.

How did I become a teacher? Where do I start?

A casting agent reached out to me when I got back to London. They wanted me to read for a period drama. In total, I must have read for them at least half a dozen times, all signs pointed to me getting the role mainly because the director told me, "You've got this in the bag."

Anyway, I didn't get the part; they gave some cock-n-bull story about going with a more prominent name.

And do you know what? It was the first time my entire career, perhaps even my life; I didn't feel that I had let someone down, I didn't feel hurt, or I needed to try harder. I was O.K with it.

The truth was I felt relieved.

It was never my plan to be an actor, but the reality was I never had a plan.

It seemed my entire life was about making others happy and constantly seeking approval.

Your dad was such a kind man. He gave my mum a job even though she was a total liability. He kept employing her despite the fact she was the worst housekeeper imaginable.

The day Joan came to pick you up shortly after he went missing, you were so sad because you didn't want to live with her.

Nobody sat you down to explain what was going on. They just blanked you.

We were just eight years old, so the only way I knew how to make you smile was to do my silly impressions and sing those funny songs we used to sing, and it worked for a few moments; you seemed happy again.

And then, everything changed; my mother came over and said Joan would be taking both of us to London. She said, "Joan is going to make you a star, Smith"; I didn't even know what that meant; I just asked her, "So does that mean me and Caggie will live together?"

Rita was a good-time girl that got saddled with a kid. Let's be frank she was never going to win mother of the year. This woman would have sold me for half a lager shandy and a packet of smokes. She claimed it was a brilliant opportunity. She was never clear if the brilliant opportunity was for her or me.

But at eight years old, I didn't care. I was just relieved not to be losing my best friend.

And Joan was faithful to her word. I worked in everything from T.V. shows, Radio dramas, commercials and stage productions. For the first time, people were applauding what I was doing. They would tell me how wonderful I was. How much they loved me. It was addictive. It was like a drug.

On the day I found out I didn't get the period drama, all I could think was, what if my mother had worked in a Cafe or was a receptionist. Your dad would always encourage her to bring me to work. But if she had worked for someone else, I wouldn't have been there.

Suddenly I was a stranger in my own life.

So, I sold my house and everything I owned, bought a one-way ticket and went backpacking; no fancy five-star resorts; it was hostels and not washing for days. It was the real deal.

After about seven months of travelling, I ended up in China. A girl I met on my travels was teaching English there. She got me a job. I loved it; It felt like I was making a difference.

I came home enrolled in university, studied very hard, gained a degree, and took a teaching job back in Wales. A new chapter had begun.

It doesn't surprise me that Joan knew where I was. What Joan didn't know wasn't worth knicker elastic. I'm shocked she confided in Clive so much the Joan I knew would never have been so open, especially with her chauffeur.

What is happiness? I'm content, and that's enough for me.

How about we agree we could have been better friends to one another in different ways but ultimately better.

Maybe there is something poetic in never having said goodbye. Perhaps it means the door to our friendship is still open.

Do you think we can start again?

Love,

Smith

P.S

I still enjoy a vodka shot and still dance badly.