Dearest Kit

Chapter Thirteen

   My heart was pounding inside my chest, echoing in my ears, feeling as though my ribs would crack at any minute, fragments projected into the rest of my body. My fingers were twitching against my leg, becoming all clammy with nerves and apprehension. Kit squeezed my hand and I clenched my shoulders, trying to contain myself by tensing my body all over.  

   The limo was still, but I could tell that the second we left the vehicle, we would be overwhelmed with fans, his fans. The cameras and the journalists would launch themselves at him, and I as a result, and I didn’t know how one was meant to prepare for that. I felt the part, if that helped, the hair and the makeup and the dress. Being all in black made me feel older, more sophisticated, it helped me to pretend that I was strong enough for this. Then I began to think, of what a minuscule detail this was in comparison to the world as a whole. People were starving, dying, suffering, and here I was, worrying about how I would look in a few photographs. 

   “What are you thinking about?” He whispered.  

   “Nothing much,” I lied. 

   “It will be okay,” he uttered into my ear, the silence of the limousine deafening in comparison to the inevitable screams of fans and reporters. 

   “What if it’s not?” I replied, a shiver traveling all the way down my spine, which could be seen through the skintight material of my dress. 

   “We can handle it,” he replied, “now, look at me,” he instructed, tracing his fingertips along my jaw, tipping my head up until I was looking directly at him. 

   “Kiss me, Christopher Ainsworth,” I smiled, curling my fingers over the back of his ear and waiting until his lips touched mine, softly. His breath tingled against my skin and I began to smile, pulling away before my lipstick got too messed up. There was a gentle knock on the car window and Kit looked at me cautiously, stroking some of my hair behind my ear and kissing my cheek. 

   “Are you ready?” He asked, and I nodded soundlessly. “I’ll go out first,” he offered, walking across to the door, crouching so his head didn’t smash against the roof of the vehicle. I followed after him, scooching along the leather seats until I was next to Kit. He opened the door and noise immediately rushed into my ears, making my heart skip a beat. People were shouting Kit’s name the second they saw him emerge from the car, but he waited, and lent back into the car, giving me his hand. 

   “Come on, it’s going to be fine,” he smiled, and for a split second, I believed him; but then terror overcame me once more. I gripped hold of his hand and ducked as I climbed out of the car, as elegantly as I possibly could. I didn’t feel like I was getting enough oxygen to my lungs, as if I would collapse at any second. “Are you okay?” He checked, squeezing my hand reassuringly. I nodded, pursing my lips as I thought of what to say. 

   “This is the first time anyone’s going to see me properly, your new girlfriend,” I reminded him.

   “I know,” he nodded. 

   “I’m Christopher Ainsworth’s girlfriend,” I smiled. 

   “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” he whispered, “come on, I think they’ll want some pictures.” He led me over to the red carpet and I had to try to ignore the constant flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. People were shouting Kit’s name, begging for a photo, for an interview. We stopped in front of the backdrop which had been put up for the premier and posed for a little while, changing angles every now and again. I smiled up at Kit in disbelief. 

   It was overwhelming, the numbers of fans screaming at the celebrities from behind the railings, and it felt wonderful, to be here, in my hometown, on such a life changing night as this. Leicester Square looked beautiful, the lights of the Odeon beaming down on us. It wasn’t raining for once, and the stars were shining, not distorted by the layers of cloud normally looming over the city.