The Waitress

Left wanting

TOM paced his flat like a caged lion his body wracked with the sort of anxiety he'd been fighting off for months, the sort of anxiety that made it hard to get out of bed in the morning and truth be told if he hadn't returned to Britain and straight into some voice-over work he probably wouldn't be getting up or going out.

It wasn't that he was particularly paralyzed by fear and anxiety, that he broke into a cold sweat when he had to be with people now. Okay well, that was part of it on some days. Though he couldn't tell you where it started or what had really caused it. But he knew he was withdrawing into himself. Things weren't bringing the pleasure they used to, it was hard to get out of bed, to find the motivation where before he'd bounce up and be ready to take on the world.

When did this start? What was the trigger this time?

Well, obviously he probably would tell you, if pushed, that it went back to earlier that year. But that was entirely true, his therapist, friends, family were more likely to say it had been coming for a long time, a side-effect to what he did, to fame. But this past year had certainly, escalated the anxiety, the depression. He'd been shadowed by the press before but when he returned to Australia, he hadn't been able to move, he was claustrophobic running on an open public beach. Having a long lens trained on you the whole time will do that. He lived in a fishbowl. He had forlornly thought coming home might be better, they would ease off not because there were less paps here but maybe with the passage of time but that had been a naïve hope. One he chastised himself for ever entertaining. He was still news – who he was seeing next, what he was doing if he had reunited with his temporary love. The press in Australia had been mostly imported from here – yes at first they were journos with cameras reassigned at local papers and not really versed in stalking celebrities but then the real Paps had invaded and his life had gone to hell (well it would have without his support network). But if he thought it was bad there it was 20 times worse here. He couldn't leave his house without appearing in a tabloid, heaven help him If he was seen with a woman – any woman. She was instantly his sad rebound girl.

And Mells was coming.

And he knew things about their relationship now that he hadn't really given credence to before.

Yes, Mells was coming.

But she wasn't coming here anymore – he had talked her into it against her better judgement. Tom had been ready to pick her up at the airport. He'd been ready to have her spend a couple of days with him before she moved on to her aunt's place in Essex before she eventually caught up with him and his family at Christmas.

But his leg of the trip had been cancelled again at his own behest. She had been right, she couldn't come here – the media would be all over her and him and she didn't need it, she was coming here to find herself and he already knew it would be more life-changing than she expected.

The last thing she needed was to be hounded by the press, to live out what could be a brilliant or a traumatic piece of her life in his fishbowl and so they had rearranged their plans again. It angered him, disappointed him. In a word he was pissed. He missed her, missed her more than he expected to. They were friends, occasionally with benefits and he'd repeatedly told himself that's all they were. All they actually ever could be. But over the past year, she had become an integral part of his life and he'd just wanted to see her, be with her – in every sense of the word.

But he couldn't now.

Not without all the unwanted attention that came with being anywhere near him.

It was little wonder he was in therapy.

Actually, even that was down to her.

She had tried to convince him he needed to see someone when he was still in Australia but he'd tried to fob her off. Of course one didn't do that to Melody Taylor, oh no. She'd brought in the big guns and rung his mother behind his back. She was far too well connected to the important people in his life. He'd come home to a plethora of appointments already booked and his dad pressed into service to make sure he got there.