Chapter 15

We were staying in a place called Brush Park, which was one of the more upmarket districts in Detroit. The studio had rented a large, fully furnished house for Henry. That was where their resident fixers had stopped. There was no food or drink in the place and nobody had been in to clean prior to our arrival. I'd been so tied up sorting out the stuff in London that I'd left it to the LA lot to get everything ready for us. I tutted at how sloppy they'd been.

"They did know we were coming, right?" Henry said as he checked out the empty fridge. We'd both slept our way through the flight, so neither of us had eaten. It was ten at night and even if I found an open grocery store, I didn't fancy venturing out till I'd got my bearings in daylight. I searched around for a listings magazine or some takeaway leaflets.

In the end, I had to google. I found a pizza delivery place and ordered some food and drink. It wasn't ideal, as Henry was starting intensive training and needed to limit his carb intake, but it was either that or nothing. With our food on the way, I began to explore the house.

Henry was already unpacking our cases in the master bedroom, a large, imposing room with a killer ensuite. I ran my finger along the fireplace, dislodging a covering of dust. It hadn't been cleaned in weeks. I decided organising a cleaning team would be first on my agenda. "This place is alright, isn't it?" He said cheerily.

"Once it's been cleaned, yes."

"They don't all have your organisational standards Sarah. This is better than most of the accommodation I've been put in over the years," he told me. "There was one place in Ireland that I stayed that was riddled with fleas. Never itched so much in my life. It took the production assistant a fortnight to get an infestation crew in." He shuddered at the memory. I laughed.

The next day, after sending a stroppy email to the administrative team at the LA studios, I was sent a care pack listing local services, a map and a rather insincere apology. They'd assumed that I'd be organising everything from the UK, so hadn't bothered.

Henry was picked up fairly early for a meeting with Zach to discuss their shooting schedule and other requirements, so I was free to get our place organised. I discovered rather quickly, that as soon as I mentioned the word 'Superman', every company in Detroit bent over backwards to accommodate us. In almost no time I had a cleaning squad beavering their way through the house, a grocery delivery on it's way and the back yard being tidied up.

Henry seemed in a great mood when he arrived home that evening. He'd met with Zach, been to meet everyone at his new gym and been to see a few of the various sets they'd be using for filming. "My new personal trainer is a great guy," he said, "does cross fit competitions for fun, and wants to introduce me to the other people doing them. He suggested that rather than just bulking up for the part, I should use the opportunity to get super fit as well."

"You're already super fit," I said, frowning slightly, "what does Zach think about it?"

"He's quite happy," Henry told me, "as long as I bulk up enough for the part."

It took me quite a while to settle into life in Detroit. In London, I was sure-footed, knowledgeable about the best places. I knew lots of people, had lots of friends and had tried and tested contacts. In Detroit I had nothing and nobody but Henry. I waited eagerly for him to come home each day as there seemed little for me to do and no-one for me to talk to. Even the gossip boards were quiet. I think he lost a lot of fans when we announced our engagement.

I spent my days pacing around the house, bored silly. Henry was busy with his training and all the pre-production stuff that goes on before a shoot. One of his co-stars had delayed the project, so we faced being in Detroit even longer than first anticipated. I took to counting down the days till we could leave. When shooting finally started, it got even worse. Henry was working long hours as well as training hard. I barely saw him.

Henry knew I was unhappy, even suggesting I joined him at his new gym. I went along for one session, but couldn't keep up and was made a bit of a fool of by some of the other women, who were all super fit. There were sly remarks about 'slowing them down'. I swore never to go again, especially as I'd felt so unwelcome and awkward. Henry was training a huge amount at that point, so I felt it was better to let him get on with it. I spent my days monitoring his online presence, and steering the gossip sites. It was around that time that things began to go wrong between us.

Henry was spending longer and longer hours out of the house, far more than he needed to, and when he wasn't working, he was hanging out with his trainer and the trainer's wife. I wasn't invited. Fan pics started popping up showing Henry and his trainer out and about. I resented the fact that he wasn't home with me, and I began to get depressed and needy. It became a vicious circle, the more depressed I got, the less he came home. It wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic, he was, it was more that he didn't know how to handle the situation, so withdrew from it. For my own sanity, I made a decision.

"I'm going back to London," I told him, "I'm lonely and this isn't working."

He looked like I'd slapped him. "Sarah, just go out and make some friends," was his response.

"I don't want friends, I want you," I said. Tears pricked at my eyes. This cold, harsh man wasn't the Henry I'd fallen in love with. He was an asshole star.

"I come home to you every night," he snapped, as though he was doing me some great favour by not staying out all night. He'd got home at midnight the previous night, he might as well as stayed out.

"I just think it might be better for me to get out of your way," I said. He didn't reply. "Come on, why not just admit that this isn't making either of us happy," I shouted. I was losing my temper. I wanted him to react, to be scared of losing me. Instead, he just seemed annoyed that I was having a go at him.

"There's no pleasing you," he said eventually, "you wanted to come to Detroit, knowing I'd be working. what did you expect? Did you think I'd be at your beck and call? Maybe if you got up off your arse and started doing your job, making contacts, you'd be a bit happier."

His words stung. In a lot of ways he was right. I'd shut myself away and ignored my job. I had irate emails from various people, namely his PR and Alan, his agent, asking me why he'd been seen in clothes branded to his gym, as opposed to his sponsor. It was the sort of thing I was supposed to prevent, but whenever I broached the subject of his involvement with his trainer, I got my head bitten off.

"You're not letting me do my job," I said quietly. I felt defeated. "Nor are you letting PR do their jobs, or Alan do his. I don't know what you're playing at, but this can't go on. Your sponsors are going nuts over the clothes you're being photographed in, the studio isn't happy with all the photos of you with a drink in your hand and Alan's grumbling about all the work you're turning down."

He didn't answer, just glared at me and stomped off up to bed. I sat with my head in my hands for a while, debating what to do. By three am, I'd made a decision. I emailed both the studio and Alan and told them that I was no longer prepared to work for Henry. I then emailed my friend Rosie in London to let her know I'd be over and needed a place to stay.

Then I booked my ticket home. By that point, I had tears rolling down my face. I was walking away from the most beautiful man in the world and nobody would care. I dreaded the jubilation that would follow, vowing not to read the social networks for a few weeks. I would need some privacy and time to lick my wounds.

Henry left the house early that morning, after grunting his annoyance that I hadn't been to bed. As soon as he'd left, I packed my case and took a cab to the airport. I doubted very much that he'd be bothered that I'd gone. In my own mind, I figured he'd be relieved not to have me clinging on the whole time, spoiling his fun. I didn't even leave a note. I did however leave my ring on the dressing table.

By the time I reached Rosie's place, I was an exhausted wreck. She took one look at me and pulled me into a hug, before making me some tea and toast and showing me up to her spare room. I slept for twelve hours straight.

I woke up at noon and shuffled downstairs. Rosie was sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. She was a writer and worked from home. She made me a tea and placed it in front of me. "So do you want to tell me what happened out there?"

The whole sorry story came flooding out. I told her how Henry had been out almost every night with his new friends, how lonely I'd been and how he'd made it impossible for me to do my job. "Well, you can stay here as long as you need to. How long is your flat rented out for?"

"Another two months," I told her. I'd been in Detroit for four months at that point. I couldn't have done another five. I knew I'd made the right decision.

After a long, hot shower, I felt human enough to check my messages. Sure enough, I had a whole load of texts, calls and emails from Henry. My hands shook slightly as I opened them. I'd fully expected either a rant or a plea, I wasn't prepared for how devastated he clearly was. I checked the rest of my emails. Alan had expressed his sorrow at the situation, and the studio just ranted a bit. Nobody else knew.

I stayed quiet all that week, hiding myself away. Henry's fans had got used to me not being visible, so nothing was said online. I hadn't replied to any emails from either the studio or Clive. I knew my career was in tatters. Instead, I read, cried and watched telly. Rosie was a terrific friend, filling the freezer with copious amounts of Ben and Jerrys and making endless cups of tea. Henry was still messaging me constantly, begging to speak to me. I just didn't feel up to it.

I knew Henry was doing a charity event in Gibraltar that weekend and wondered if he'd fly to London afterwards. I missed him dreadfully, but as I hadn't been in touch, felt as though there was a deep chasm between us that I couldn't breach. By that point, I was in a deep depression, regretting my actions, but too low to do anything about it.

I watched his Gibraltar run online, but I was horrified to see his trainer with him, edging his brother out of the way. The event had been planned months in advance and there hadn't been any need to include a personal trainer. Henry seemed happy though and must've posed with every resident of the island as well as every competitor. He certainly didn't look heartbroken or upset.

Rosie placed another tub of ice cream in front of me, probably as a precaution. I watched as his trainer ran between Henry and his brother, taking centre stage. I also noticed that they were both wearing shorts branded to his gym. Rosie just shook her head when I pointed it out.

"I did a bit of reading up on this cross fit thing," she said, "it seems they treat it like a little cult, call themselves the cross fit family, that sort of thing, probably because all the bona fide trainers sneer at it, or don't agree with it. Why was Henry booked to train there?"

"Warner brothers booked it direct, and I didn't know enough to change that. I thought a gym was a gym. Seems this place are wringing maximum publicity out of Henry while they can." The thought of him being used saddened me. People around him had worked hard to build his career, and some hangers on had just jumped on his coat tails.

He didn't call, or stop off in London. It seemed as though he'd forgotten me completely. Cue more crying and another tub of choc chip.

A few days later, it got worse. It was my own stupid fault. I was reading Datalounge, checking out some of the outrageous Henry threads on there, when I saw a post claiming that he had a new girlfriend and that he'd met her at his gym. I went cold. I found out more at IMDB. She was tweeting about their relationship. I cringed at her tweets about her 'A' list boyfriend, egged on by the trainer's wife, who was clearly trying to get publicity. The gossip sites lit up with it all, mostly because she seemed oblivious to the damage she was doing.

As I watched it all play out, someone unearthed some photos of her out hunting. She'd killed a deer, and was posing the dead body alongside another one in a sort of macabre kiss. It was revolting. What made it even worse was whoever posted those pictures tagged Henry's wildlife charity. I clicked through the links. The poster was none other than @Hat2465 himself. Henry was in so much trouble, I thought, plus of course, he didn't have a fixer.

I debated what to do. As heartbroken as I was, I still loved Henry and cared desperately for him. While I was debating how best to handle the situation, my phone rang.

It was Henry. I took a deep breath before answering it.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry," he began, "I'm sorry I was too self absorbed to see what was happening to you, to us."

"You're in trouble aren't you?" I said.

He paused, "a bit, yes. Lots of rumours, pictures being manipulated, things aren't what they seem."

"I guessed that much. That person who was tweeting death threats to me is behind it."

"Are you sure?" He sounded panicky, unsure of himself.

"I'm certain. Are you seeing someone else?"

"I'm heartbroken over you, of course not. I'm barely holding it together out here. I miss you."

"It didn't look like it." It was snarky of me, but he had been an idiot.

"I'm an actor, in case you'd forgotten. I can do a happy face no matter what. Truth is I'm in pieces and I miss you. Where are you staying?"

"With Rosie. She's been looking after me."

"Thank her for me. I've been beside myself with worry. I hate it when you do the disappearing thing. I know I wasn't listening though," he paused, "I know it was my fault, and I want you to know that I'm sorry and I love you."

My voice cracked as I said; "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Come back? Please?"