Two weeks later, on a sound stage in Universal Studios, Catherine Blake collapsed. Assistants had noted her pallor during the morning as they had dressed her and once or twice she had winced,  but makeup had done its usual sterling work and she had conducted herself with her usual professionalism. Until she suddenly bent double, groaned, and fell to her knees.

"CUT? What is it, Cat?" The director rushed forward, as did various members of the cast.

"I...need a doctor...Jesus, please, no, don't let this be happening..." Santoros picked her up and carried her off set; a doctor was sent for.  He placed her down on a couch and, as he pulled away, he noticed the trickle of blood running down her leg.

"Madre de Dios...she's bleedin'!"

At that the set was cleared and a car brought up to whisk her to the medical unit. Cat just cried quietly to herself, her face turned away from everyone and her legs pulled up into a foetal position.

"Miss Blake...can you hear me, Miss Blake?" The set doctor gently nudged her and she rolled back. A quick examination was conducted. "You are pregnant?"

She nodded. The doctor said, "Hospital, quick!"

A helicopter was summoned to fly her to Cedars-Sinai where a team waited to receive her; she was rushed into emergency.

"Please..." Cat grabbed the hand of her assistant Lia. "Call Mackenzie! He's somewhere in Texas. Call him now. He has to know..."

There was nothing that could be done. It was a miscarriage, accompanied by severe haemorrhaging. The foetus was aborted spontaneously and Cat rushed for an emergency operation to stop the bleeding. By the time he arrived, shocked and scared, it was all over. Cat was sedated and all he could do was sit by her side and try to take in what had happened.

"Mr. Dunne?" An obstetrician called him from the room. She led him to an office, well aware of the prurient interest of even her own staff at this time of grief for the celebrity couple.

"I believe you were the father of the baby?" He nodded, sombre- faced. 

"I am Doctor Da Costa. It is hard at these times to try to put things in context but you must understand that many pregnancies don't make it to term for all sorts of reasons. Nature protects itself. There is no reason to suggest that this will have any adverse effect on any future attempts that you both might plan to make to start a family. Leave it a few months and try again. But she needs to take more care of herself. Both your lifestyles may need some adjustment."

Mackenzie brushed his hand back over his unruly, uncombed hair. He'd been on his bike when the call had come in; he was still dressed in his leathers. He cleared his throat. "What do you mean? Care of herself? Lifestyle adjustments? What did she do wrong?"

"I didn't say she did anything wrong. Sometimes these things just happen- it is a matter of foetal insufficiency or congenital abnormality. But...Mr. Dunne, frankly, she is very underweight and in some ways undernourished. Young women like her are constantly trying to starve themselves into some ideal body shape for men like you. Perhaps you can be more tolerant if she isn't quite the starving clothes-horse she has been. She will need to be at least fifteen pounds heavier to be fully strong enough to sustain a pregnancy."

Mackenzie's anger flared and he had trouble holding it in check. "She doesn't do it for me. That's for the fucking vultures out there who will pick over her bones in the media if she puts on an ounce in weight! I have tried to...ahh, what the fuck, you don't fucking care..."He walked away, slamming his fist against the wall, feeling the choke in his voice. Knowing the whole world would know their secret and that the fate of their child would be fodder for rising news' sales the next day.

"I'm sorry, I had no right to imply that. I see so many women in this position as a result of careless dieting and substance abuse..."

"Substance abuse?" Mackenzie spun round and stared at the doctor.

"She has been a user of various substances. There is some liver damage already..."

"Not since the baby...she swore..."

"I'm not saying she has done this recently. But the effects linger. She should have withdrawn completely and got her system clear before she embarked on a pregnancy. That's all I am saying. How far on was her pregnancy?"

He shrugged. " 'bout two months, I think."

"Really? We thought three. The foetus was quite large. I'm so sorry. She is very upset. She will need a lot of care and patience. Do not let her sink into herself. That will be the main problem. Women can be very hard hit by these things."

He nodded. "And Mr. Dunne, so can men. Take care you look after yourself too." She patted his arm in an attempt at compassion.

For a few hours, Mackenzie sat by Cat's bed as she came in and out of lucidity, weeping and incoherent for the most part. He had a lot of time to think. One phrase kept running though his head. "We thought three." Three months ago they had been apart. Had this even been his child at all?

But this was not the time or the place for discussions or revelations of that nature. Mackenzie sat by her bed and held her hand while she slept until she needed him no more. He slipped out of the room, left his own security people to keep the ghouls away and strode out into the night.

...Miss Blake collapsed on the set of her recent film, currently shooting in Hollywood. Her fiancé, the -winning actor, Mackenzie Dunne, flew to her bedside. The couple, who recently announced their engagement in the unlikely setting of a gig performed by his band, is slated to marry later in the year. No official statement has been made, but rumours suggest that Miss Blake may have suffered a miscarriage. Mr. Dunne, seen above arriving at the hospital, refused to give a comment and was openly hostile to reporters, taking a swing at a photographer on the way out of the private clinic when he left. His bodyguards restrained him but he was clearly in a highly emotional state....

Mackenzie cancelled the remainder of the tour, rented a luxury service apartment and holed up there with Cat and  a nurse, driving the rest of the world away. His parents rang, confused by reports in newspapers; they hadn't even known about the pregnancy, were unsure if it were true. Cat refused to speak with them. Her mother was offensive towards him when he put her off; he was unforgivably rude back. For several quiet days he stayed with her, talking, listening, comforting - even reading to her while she lay in their darkened room in introspective silence.  At night she clung to him like a frightened child herself, lost and afraid.

But something was gnawing at him all the time. Notions once envisioned that could not be withdrawn. The idea that she had let him down again- this time in the worst of ways. One rainy day, a week or so later, when Cat seemed brighter and more positive, when she had eaten a hearty lunch and was breezing around, tidying up and singing to herself, Mackenzie found himself suddenly tense and angry. He wasn't certain why. But he had slept badly and felt low, exhausted, restless and bitter. Cat's unnatural high spirits was grating on his nerves. He wondered if it would ever occur to her just how much the loss of their child had meant to him. She hadn't even once discussed how he had felt. And then there were the other issues: three months' pregnant, her body wrecked by abuse. Mackenzie gritted his teeth and prepared his gambit. It was time for them to have a serious talk.

"Mac? Do you fancy going out? I'm sick of being cooped in this place. Let's hit the town; have a nice dinner, maybe go dancing? I've got to get back to work on Monday so I might as well start facing the public..."

He said nothing, merely slouched back on the big leather armchair and closed his eyes.

"Mac? Are you listening? Should I get my hair done? Make a big splash? Look like I'm a million bucks and everything is hunky dory? I'm not going into mourning just for them to get a good picture of me crying..."

"Cat, was I the father?"

Cat's eyes widened at his words. She spun round and stared at him. "What? Of course you are...I mean were...why would you think that you weren't?"

Mackenzie looked down, embarrassed. "They told me you were three months' pregnant. But if you were, it wasn't mine. That's all."

Cat stood before him, face white and sensing something in him that she had missed. He had that cold, slow-fused glint of anger in his eyes. His demeanour was challenging. She suddenly felt afraid, a premonition of impending meltdown.

"But, Mac, there's been nobody else...Jesus, you don't believe me, do you? You would prefer to think it was someone else's, wouldn't you? The great Dunne can't be unable to give his woman a healthy baby, can he?  He would never fail to shoot healthy sperm. Must be her fault... How can you say such a thing to me at a time like this? Have you got no heart?"

Tears began to pour down her face again but he just stood up, walking to the window and watching the rain slide down the pane.

"No," he whispered resting his forehead against the cool glass.  "You broke that in pieces long ago, honey." He didn't want to look at her; he knew she could still play him any way she wanted - but it was too late for that.

"Mackenzie, I didn't even want a baby. I did it for you. Why would I have some other man's child and try to palm it off as yours?"

He laughed bitterly. "You don't have a fucking clue what you're doing from one minute to the next. You probably don't even know who the father is. You are such a pathetic mess..."

Cat ran up to him eyes blazing and forced him to turn round and look at her. "I am not lying! I did everything for this baby and for you. You never give me a chance. You always want me to be what I'm not. But I tried my best. I really tried. You are such a bastard to throw this in my face!"

He grabbed her arms. "Oh really? You tried your best? Your body is riddled with drugs and self abuse. The doctor even implied you had been using while pregnant. You're a complete wreck of a human being. I pity that child - but maybe it was for the best. You'd be a shitty mother and a bitch of a wife. Thank Christ, I am seeing the truth at last."

They looked at each other, Mackenzie furious, barely restraining the emotion that was in danger of pouring out of him. Catherine simply stared, unable to comprehend where his anger had come from.

"I need you, Mackenzie. I need you to look after me! How can you abuse me in this way? I don't understand..."

He walked to the door. "I can't take anymore, Catherine. This is the last straw. You've played me out once too many times. Either this wasn't my child or you caused the miscarriage by your selfish amorality. Maybe both. I don't want you to be in my life any more. You will destroy me." And he stormed out of the room.

Catherine ran down the corridor after him, screaming his name, her legs unsteady beneath her. He brushed her off, barked something at Dave and hit the elevator button. A burly bodyguard restrained her, gently enough, but still firm, preventing her from reaching out to Mackenzie, who stood back to her, head down, refusing to speak. Cat still screamed on and on, pleas, entreaties, promises, curses - finally lapsing into meaningless wailing. The noise rang through his ears for days.

The eternally charming Mackenzie Dunne has exceeded even his remarkable reputation for nastiness. It appears that he has walked out on Catherine Blake, the lovely but fragile actress to whom he was declaring undying love in poetry just a few weeks ago. Seems his fiancée couldn't deliver the goods. Miss Blake recently suffered a miscarriage so- he broke off the engagement. Good job this isn't the 16th century - he would probably have had her head chopped off. The age of chivalry is not dead.

Catherine Blake finished the film; checked into a clinic and disappeared for three months. She was at the point of complete collapse, physically and emotionally. Her system was wrecked by several years of abuse and by the drinking she had been doing to get herself through the final weeks of shooting. Her nerves were shattered by the loss of first her child, then the man she loved and his irrational rejection of her when she had needed him most. But Catherine was nothing if not a realist. Somewhere deep within she knew why he had reacted as he had done. Long ago she had caused him to lose trust in her and his vulnerability had burst forth in one blinding flash of anger, tearing down everything that they had tried to build together. She only had herself to blame.

Mackenzie had contacted her after walking out but it was clear that he had made his mind up. She was not the woman who could be his partner; the trust was gone. Once his mind was fixed on something, he was formidable and impossible to shake. He would not believe the child had been his. They talked, staccato, terse, formal and cold; Cat had finally hung up and refused his later attempts to ease his conscience and check up on her. It was shortly after that she listened to the advice of those around her and turned to professional help.

In many ways she wished she had done it long ago. Somehow Mackenzie had protected her from having to make decisions for herself for far too long and in doing so had made her even worse. Catherine sensed that she had never really learnt her own coping strategies in the face of fame and media pressure - and in that lay her tragedy. Too late she underwent the process that should have been gradual over the years that she had spent in the limelight. Now, alone, she faced reality alone and began again, slowly rebuilding the shattered pieces of her life, determined to show the world that she could deal with life, fame and even the devastating loss of her lover and her child. There was steel within her- she just had never before tried to discover how strong she really was.

"Miss Blake?" A nurse popped her head around the door. "There's a guy to see you. A rather famous guy, actually," she beamed.

Cat lifted her head from the writing she was doing, her face suddenly ashen and her eyes blinking rapidly.

"Er...send him in...thank you..." She smoothed down her hair and moistened her lips. There was a light tap at the door, a rather jaunty rat-a-tat, and the door opened.

"Ciaran?" Cat's face fell imperceptibly but then relaxed into a wide smile, relief evident. "Ciars, you old bastard!"

"You could try to pretend you were pleased to see me, Caitlin, me darlin'. Who'd you think it was? Fucking cunting Dunne?"

"Stop verbalising nouns, Ciars. And don't start. Please." Cat blushed slightly.

He held his hands up. "I know, Cat, but I'd like to ram my fucking fist down his big fucking gob, the shite."

"Ciaran! You don't know shit - so shut up. Please."

Reluctantly Reilly changed the subject. "You OK? Sorting yourself out?" he asked brusquely, uncomfortable with the personal area he was touching on, too much of a lad to know how to broach the issue more delicately.

Catherine stood up and went over to him, suddenly throwing her arms round his neck and hugging him tight. He clasped her to him and they hung on for a while, saying nothing.

"I'm better now for that! God, I needed a hug so bad. I've not touched anyone in so long." She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. " But I am fine. Look at me! I'm a stone heavier, eating well, swimming everyday, no booze, no fags, no illegal substances, no deviant sex...in fact no bloody sex at all. They've just offered me the lead in a remake of Pollyanna..."

Ciaran laughed and twirled her round. She looked good. A little pale, no makeup, hair in a girlish plait  - but physically in the best shape he'd seen her for a long time.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"I'm getting it together at last. I'm seeing a psychiatrist - she's really good. Took me right back to when I was a little kid. I found out about a lot of stuff in my childhood that hadn't helped. You know the kind of crap: my parents, family dynamics, my insecurities...shit like that. She thinks I hid behind role-playing as a child - maybe that's why I'm such a fucking ace actor. I'm better at being other people than myself. The real me is a shit-scared kid who is still having trouble adjusting to being an adult. Arrested development, eh?" Cat grinned but her eyes were brimming. She curled up in an armchair near the window and Ciaran pulled a chair over to be near her.

"I'm not saying that all actors are basket cases, Ciaran, but...well, I am. But I'm learning now. Guess it's about time...." She smiled at him and he reached over and squeezed her hand; she played with a lock of his hair with her fingers, brushing it back in a tender gesture. He could feel her tactile nature, starved of touch and warmth. "You know...Mackenzie tried to shield me from it all and in many ways I let him. But it wasn't good for me in the long run. I needed to grow myself. He's so strong and dominant that I either ran and hid in him or ran from him and rebelled, like some mixed up teenager..."

"So he did fuck you up then?" Ciaran observed, the belligerent tone back.

"No, he did not. I was fucked up already. He loved me and wanted so much to take care of me. You can't blame him for that. But I wore him down and drove him into the ground. Maybe it's for the best in the end. I have to learn to be myself and I'm determined to do that. I will be strong in the future."

Cat sat back and looked at Ciaran and he recognised the difference in her. He felt that he was seeing inside her for the first time. He had never known her without the barrier of wild abandon; he felt that she was on the road to recovery and rejoiced in it.

"Christ, Cat, he dumped you because of the baby. That's a fucking disgrace..."

Cat shook her head. "That's not what happened. That's what the press thinks happened. Some fucking stupid doctor planted an idea in his head and I suppose it was the last straw. He was at breaking point; he had lost his baby too. People never think that a man might feel as bereft as a woman in those circumstances. He convinced himself that I was guilty of the final betrayal. In that state, distraught, when you're at the lowest ebb and someone gets to you...he just made his mind up. Once he does that he's like a mule- you can't shake him. He won't listen. So then he pushed the self-destruct button and ...boom!" She made a motion like an explosion.

"What was he so pissed about?" Ciaran asked gently, unsure whether he was quite following what she meant.

"He thinks I was using when I was pregnant. Coiaran, I swear I wasn't. But even worse than that...he thinks it wasn't his baby." She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, the memory of his accusation still like a knife inside her belly. It made her flinch every time.

Ciaran blew out air slowly. "Was it?"

Cat groaned. "See? Even you are not sure. I brought this on myself. Maybe we both did." She sighed and leaned back on the chair to look up at the ceiling. " I wonder if we weren't always doomed, just like Ted and Sylvia. Two forces of nature, cursed with a similar talent and obsession, attracting and repelling each other in equal measure. It was bound to end in tears. Make a good movie really..." She made a feeble attempt at laughter.

At that she broke off and fought to regain her self-control. A lump was forming in her throat, bile rising, bitter in her mouth. "I truly loved him, Ciaran. I never lied about that.  He was the one. Still is. I can't get over him. Not sure I ever want to. Don't want anyone else. From now on, it's me, Cat Blake on my own. No crutches."

Ciaran slid onto the floor and ran his arms around her waist. "You've always got me. kid."

"Oh, Ciaran! You are the best friend I've got. You don't know what you mean to me."Cat reached for him and they held on tight while she cried gently on his shoulder.

"You want a shag?" Ciaran teased, feeling her bum and pinching it. She lifted up her head, eyes dancing, laughing through the tears.

"Fuck off you, sad wanker. You so desperate you have to raid looney bins like this?" They giggled and he stroked the tears away.

"Always, Cat. If you need me I'm not much of a one for fuckin' sweet talk but I'll give you me shoulder. You know I will, darlin'."

They talked on, covered other topics: their plans, up-coming projects, perhaps a film together one day soon? Cat's stay in this private elite clinic had not affected her appeal- the image of the misused, haunted beauty had only heightened her popularity and profile. Parts were rolling in; she had just signed for a romantic comedy that was to film in New York over the winter months. It was nothing too taxing - a sweet little script and something different, lighter and fresher than her normal work.

Then there was the other therapy that had led to a new career. Her psychiatrist had encouraged her to express her feelings in writing. Cat had produced poems and later lyrics; working with a musician she had set them to music and planned an album of her own personal work and some favourite songs written by others. It would be recorded in New York while she was filming.

"What kind of stuff?" Ciaran asked.

"Women's stuff. Broken hearts. Men and women. Angst." She raised her eyes playfully. "But not quite as whiny as Alanis."

He grinned. "Ballcrunching stuff. Go for it. You do everything well. They'll love you."

"Still not sure. Maybe it's too personal. Too intrusive. Maybe he doesn't deserve it."

"Fuck him, Cat."

"That's not fair. The press nailed him good this time. He's like the Devil Incarnate. It did him a lot of harm." She played with her hair, twisting a stray lock and nibbling nervously on it.

"It didn't hurt his fucking career."

"I know - that's because he's a class act, Ciaran. But his reputation has suffered..."

"It was fucking bad to start with..."

"Ciaran- he didn't do what they said. Mackenzie is a good man who tried hard to love me. Whatever he pretends, he has suffered too."

"He wrote songs about you. He didn't fucking care how that made you feel."

Cat said nothing. He was referring to one song- a painful and direct expose of his despair; the lyrics were not blatantly pointed at her, but to those who knew the true story it was obvious what he meant. He had poured out his bitterness at her in his own catharsis; Cat hoped it had finally freed him from the pain.

It was no point arguing with Ciaran. He would defend Cat to the hilt, despite the fact that he had witnessed Dunne's love and tenderness at such close hand. But Reilly was a man too, as capable of breaking hearts and moving on as Mackenzie was, more so in many ways- he was younger and less sensitive- but what he could excuse in himself, he would not forgive if directed at his loved ones. Cat smiled at him. He was so like Mackenzie, really. Perhaps that was the kind of man she gravitated to: relentlessly male - and hopelessly addictive.

Catherine Blake was discharged and swung into action, full of energy and positive vibes for the future. She juggled the recording of her album and the filming of the movie with aplomb, was seen out and about at restaurants, premieres, shows, bars, escorted by famous men and courted by the media. She seemed more beautiful than ever: calm, elegant and poised, still capable of cheeky outbursts and sparkling humour but equally inclined to stay a little remote, preferring a hint of mystery about her personal life.

The press portrayed her as a heroine who had ridden a destructive relationship with a selfish, spoiled megalomaniac and had risen from the ashes of it with her head held high. She was feted like a princess wherever she went; this lady had earned her spurs. Dunne had not destroyed her.

The New Year came and went with the media full of stories. Nomination season and Cat Blake was on every list; Lucrezia had been one of the year's most respected mainstream hits. Meanwhile Mackenzie was in Australia in apparently sullen silence, courting some local beauty. There were whispers of marriage, rumours that the woman was pregnant but very little concrete news; he wouldn't let anyone get a sniff of his life.

One night, curled up on the giant sofa, in front of the TV at his house on the estate at Beacon Hill, Mackenzie was reading and flicking channels in his usual restless way, Shauna's head on his lap. They'd been together for four months now and it was good: quiet, peaceful love, good sex, a woman who was there for him. He'd met her at a dinner; she had been an up-and-coming model. Within a month, she had dropped the career and moved in; since then they had hardly spent a day apart. Shauna was beautiful, gentle and giving - she would make a wonderful wife and mother, everyone thought so. Mackenzie had convinced himself, as only he could, that this is what he really needed.

The Jay Leno show was on. Mackenzie liked Leno more than most of his ilk and lingered on the channel to see who was on.

"OK folks. The lady you have been waiting for...Back on the scene, lovelier than ever...Miss Catherine Blake."

Mackenzie felt his body tense up, each muscle clenched, blood pounding in his ears. Shauna rolled to his side, looked up nervously at his reaction and reached for the remote; he raised his hand to keep it from her grasp.

"Don't, Mackie! She isn't worth it, honey. You know she'll say something- she's such a loose cannon. You've been hurt enough, baby."

But he could not tear his eyes away from the screen. Cat walked on, dressed in a simple outfit, loose black jersey pants and a soft peach cashmere jumper. Her hair was now a dark chestnut with red lights glinting- it was hanging like a sheen down her back. Around her neck he recognised a cross he had once given her, studded with diamonds. He couldn't believe she would still wear it.

His breath caught in his throat. My God, she was beautiful. But she was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it - and then he realised what it was. Her eyes were clear and steady and all her nervous gestures and manic high spirits seemed to have disappeared. Cat seemed like a doppelganger of the woman he had known. But she still threw him and drained his ability to think clearly. He simply stared at the television screen  like a crazed stalker.

LENO: Catherine, it is so great to see you here. You look marvelous - doesn't she look good, everyone? Jeez, I must have been a good boy when I was young...OK, serious now...stop lusting, Jay boy. Stick to the notes.[ rustles the prompts in front of him, feigning nervousness, Cat smiles and raises her eyes] What a couple of months you've had! You open a film, it tops the box office world-wide, you are nominated for every award and then some...and I believe you have an album in the pipeline, as well as another film or two. Where can I start?

CAT: Was that a question? [the audience laughs]

LENO: Hey, I'm only human! Oscar nomination. Gotta be the biggie?

CAT: Mental. I am so chuffed about it. I keep pinching myself. It is the greatest accolade.  Sort of makes sense of it all.

LENO: The money's on you to walk away with it.

CAT: Really? No, I really don't think so. I don't care about winning it. I'll be there and I'll be so proud. But I will have a frozen smile on if I don't. Been practicing. [Cat turns to the audience with a false beaming grin on her face. Another bout of laughing]

LENO: You've bought an apartment in New York, I believe.

CAT: This boy does his homework, folks. Yeah, I just adore New York. Spent the past four months there and I love it. It feels like home. I think it will become my home. But who knows? Things change.

LENO: You've made a film there?

CAT: Romantic comedy. Can you imagine anybody being crazy enough to cast me in a romance!! But I loved it and I'd like to do more comedy. Fed up of tragedy, mate!  It comes out in the autumn, I think. Ages to go yet.

LENO: In the meantime?

CAT: Party. Millions of awards thingies and dinners. I'll be about ten stone heavier! But I'll be working too. A few gigs to promote my album. I will be sooooo nervous about that.

LENO: Ah, the album. Why music?

CAT: [blew out air and raised her eyes] I had a need to get out some of my more painful issues. [She turned to the audience and put on a nasal New York accent: "I'm so much more together now that I have been in psychoanalysis!"] Seriously though, I just got into writing lyrics, poems..it was a difficult period of adjustment. But I just got the notion to turn them into a coupla songs and it mushroomed from there. But - course it's a vanity project. I'm a star, I can do anything. Tomorrow the world... [The audience laughed at her clowning. Cat shrugged and held her hands up]

LENO: Cat, you are a star. A very special one. Pity they don't all see it like you. You know what I am going to ask you next?

CAT: No... you want me to sing? Like I haven't been practising in front of the bedroom mirror all day?[She pulled a face and the audience laughed some more]

LENO: Catherine Blake...first ever appearance on TV with a song from her new album, Would you like to tell us about it?

CAT:[snorting with laughter] Not really. However PR requires me to say something. It's a bit sad, a song about loss and trying to understand where you go wrong in life. Laugh a minute stuff. Hide the kitchen knives. Makes Leonard Cohen sound like the laughing Policeman. It's called 'My True Love'.

Cat rose from the armchair and made her way over to where her small ensemble was waiting for her. The studio lights dimmed and she sat on a high stool, suddenly self-conscious, her throat dry. Biting her tongue hard and remembering that Mackenzie had once told her that was a way of flooding your mouth with saliva when you were nervous and dry-mouthed, she realised that the music had begun. She closed her eyes and sang.

My true love is sitting on a pile of stones
And he's wondering to himself
'Oh, where did I go wrong?

My true love has found himself alone
And he's sorry for it all
And all the hurt we've done

I've given more than I can take 
Fallen for the same mistake
Promises were made to break
What will save us now?

I don't want to remember
I don't want to remember

My true love is a saccharine kind of pill
That tastes too sweet for words
And cannot be fulfilled

My true love is a dangerous china cup
With all the broken pieces
That cannot be picked up

Now all the colours left to run
All the dreams have been undone
Love has left me standing here
Raging at the sun

And I don't want to remember
I don't want to remember...
My true love

Mackenzie sat transfixed by her words. Words of no blame, just of sadness at the hopelessness of it all. She had put into words what they had both felt during those desperate days when they had first parted; when he had thought he would die of the pain of losing her. That pain when you wake up in the morning shocked that you didn't die in the night.  She knew that he had felt the same way as she had - and she had understood. Jesus, Cat, where did we go wrong?

As the song died away and the credits rolled, Mackenzie lurched out of the chair and threw open the large French windows that led outside. He needed to breathe fresh air. Shauna watched him go, unsure what to do. That was the last thing she had expected from Blake, but typical of the little cow. How better to turn the knife?

For a few hours, Mackenzie wandered around his property and thought. I don't want to remember. But you do. Every night, every day, something brings it back and the pain resurfaces again, just for an instant until you choke it down deep again. Christ, he had thought she might kill herself; had almost run to her when he heard about the collapse and the private clinic. But something had willed him to stop. He had had to break free- they both did.

Raging at the Sun. He had spent days and nights when he had ridden to the highest point on his land and simply howled in temper and rage at the sun and the moon for daring to still be there after what he had been through. She had done the same. Somewhere in the world they had both been tearing at their flesh in their loneliness and distress. How could love hurt so much? How could the one you want not be the one you need?

Returning to the house way past midnight, Mackenzie joined Shauna in their room. She was asleep, golden hair on the pillow. He stripped and joined her, lying back, his arms above his head, still deep in thought. Shauna stirred, realised he was there, rolled over and held him. He put his arm around her instinctively and stroked her hair. Closing his eyes, he let her reach for him, let her slowly jerk his cock in her cool, soft hands, then slither down his body to fellate him. Tears wet his eyelashes, shame at how he was using her. In his mind, as usual, he was with Cat. Always Cat. He wasn't even sure he could even get a hard on unless he imagined she was there.

Late March. Oscar night.  Catherine Blake sat in the hotel suite, attended by hordes of minions; hair, nails, gown, jewellery - all perfect, chosen for her by the experts. She felt like a mannequin in a shop window. Bouquets of flowers were displayed everywhere, faxes from all and sundry- even the British PM- hampers and expensive gifts arriving all day. Cat remained deep within her own head, going though the acquired mantras to ensure she remained in control of her emotions and did not revert to that other wilder self who could destroy all that she had achieved in a blink of an eye.

Suddenly the doorbell rang and some flunky went to answer it; in ran Ciaran dressed to the nines in a tux and looking like a little Irish James Bond. Cat burst out laughing and sang the Bond theme; he struck up the famous pose from the title sequence.. "They'll never have two fucking Irishman as the quintessential Brit. But I'd fucking wipe the boards with Brosnan," he trilled in his Bond like stance. The hordes of simpering women, there to dress Cat, giggled and he made eyes at several. Cat reckoned somebody would get lucky tonight

"Reilly, you scrub up well. Bet you fall over before tonight's over though, you pisshead," Cat slung across at him.

"Hey, you silly cunt. I gave up a chance to accompany...better keep that one quiet...to spend a chaste, fucking boring five hours with Cat Blake aka Mother Teresa here. You still not getting it up your fanny?" Cat shook her head and gave him the finger. The boy was incorrigible but totally wonderful. She had thought she would have to go alone until he had rung up out of the blue and asked if he could be her escort. Bloody brilliant Ciaran. Cat wished she could fall in love with him. But these things just don't work to order, do they?

Time to go, he took her hand and they left the hotel together, smiling easily at the crowds of onlookers, giggling manically back in the car at the nonsense of it all.

Cat was dressed by Alexander McQueen in cream silk, figure hugging and haute couture, no wild fashion statements but simple, classical, film goddess style, hair piled high, long white neck exposed. She left the frills and furbelows of some of the other divas in her wake and everything about her said: "This is the woman of the moment." The only person there who didn't care was Catherine Blake herself. She had craved this attention all her life and now it was here, she knew it meant nothing. Although proud and honoured to be recognised for her craft, she knew that acting was a team sport, and could not be judged by league tables. It was life that was a solo game and sometimes you find a partner to help you through on the way; Cat had thrown away the real prize on the climb to the stars. And you only get one crack at either.

Despite herself, Cat found that she was looking around for someone and  she knew exactly whom she wished to see. Just a glance. Just for a moment. Even across the room.  That would be enough. Just to smile at him and let him see that she held no animosity or ill will- that the good times far outweighed the bad.

"He's not here, Cat," Ciaran whispered as he caught her surreptitious glances around. "I checked that one out. He turned down the invite to present."

She nodded and took a deep breath. That was that then. On with the show.

By the time they came to Best Actress, Ciaran had been out five times for a fag and a couple of times for a leak. His 'sitter' was busy all night. Cat had joined him a few times but she was trying not to make too much contact with other people. There were plenty of people here who resented her and she knew someone would eventually ask a difficult question just to make her squirm. That she could do without.

The nominees were read out and Cat felt her mind wandering. The whole thing was so surreal. How could she be here? How had she got from a gawky English teenager with a tendency to show off and break the rules to Diva status on this starry night of hyperbole and excess? When her name was read out, she didn't even hear it; Ciaran nudged her and muttered "That's you, ya silly cunt." He pushed her to her feet and she stood stunned and confused; he kissed her softly and said: "Go up those fucking stairs and give the bleeders some stick!"

Cat took the stairs and received the award. Touched cheeks with last year's recipient and acknowledged the applause. She waited for it all to die down and gazed out over the rich and pampered audience; a wide smile broke over her face.

"Mental!" was the first thing she said. The audience roared with laughter at her exuberant exclamation. And then: "For the first time in living memory- I am speechless. Truly...truly... this is an honour. I know I should now say some deep and profound sentiments but I haven't got the words unless some clever playwright writes them for me. That's the point about being an actor. You're just a part of a team and it has no meaning without all the other talented people both in front of the camera and behind. Of course, this is theirs too and I thank them all. As I also thank all those members of the Academy who were generous enough to cast their votes for me.'

But two people require special thanks above all or I would not be here tonight - literally. Ciaran - I do love you so very much - you are the best. We'll get smashed after, I promise you - real Dublin style. Thank you for saving my life so many times!" The audience applauded and laughed while Cat waited nervously, fingering the statuette. Ciaran looked bashful for once and hid his face in his hands.

Once calm had been restored and the small prompt screen said 'One minute, wrap up, please!' Cat continued: "However there is someone else I need to thank before I go. I will not name him for personal reasons although he surely knows who he is. If he had not been my friend and mentor for a very long, long time then I would still be in repertory theatre in England and all this would not have been possible. He changed my life and I am forever in his debt." She held up the statuette as if to salute someone, then bowed slightly to the audience and left the stage .It was one of the most restrained and elegant of speeches from a leading actress in a long time at the Oscars.

The morning after the night before, Cat sat at a table on her balcony and drank fruit juice. She had not got smashed; she had dumped Ciaran with a soft porn star he had hooked up with and taken the limo home. The main parties had been attended and she had shown her face; everyone who needed one had got their interview. But her heart wasn't in the carousing - and she had been in bed by one.

Her team of PRs had been manning phones and faxes all morning, more bouquets and fawning gifts were arriving all the time. She closed the French windows and cut out the mayhem inside, leaning back and breathing in the smog. But the sun was shining and she would leave for a holiday later in the day; a couple of weeks in the Caribbean and a complete rest. Catherine sighed at the thought that she would be alone  there- in solitary confinement of the most luxurious kind.

Amongst the hundreds of telegrams and calls, her parents had never contacted her. Catherine had rung home herself and forced a grudging well done from her mother and a warmer, tear-filled few words from her Dad. But nothing more than that. Worst of all- total silence from Mackenzie. Not a line or a word. She had been sure that he would have sent at least that much.

Shrugging, she applied herself to the morning newspapers, read of the real world out there and felt ashamed. I have so much. Why can I not be satisfied with all this when others have so little? Just then Lia, her assistant and the nearest thing that Cat had to a girlfriend, opened the window and stepped onto the wide balcony. "Miss Blake, there's someone to see you."

"Please Lia, not this morning. I just want to be left alone," Cat waved her hand to say no.

"But...but... it'sY it's Mr. Dunne...." Lia seemed concerned.

Cat raised her head and an involuntary whimper came from her mouth. "Clear the suite. Everybody out - I mean everybody - even you. Then I will see him."

She waited for a few moments that felt like hours and then opened the doors to enter the suite. Mackenzie was standing with his back to her, reading the message on a large flower arrangement. He spun round as she closed the balcony door and they stared across the room at each other open-mouthed.

He looked well, bronzed from an Australian summer, hair tousled and sun-lightened, roughly bearded, dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt, black leather jacket. It was the look that she loved most. The image she carried in her head all the time.

"I just wanted to...Congratulations, Cat. I'm so delighted... more than that...I don't know. It had to be you - but ya never know. They got it right on the nail this time. Jesus, I'm fuckin' rambling here. Christ, I enjoyed it more than my own. Cat...oh Cat. You were amazing up there. I didn't fuckin' deserve what you said..."  He ran his hands through his hair; how well she recognised the signs of his emotional discomfort.

"I thought you were in Oz." It was all she could think of to say.

"I was. Flew over Saturday. Just got in time to watch the show. They heard me shout in the next street when they read your name out. Fuckin' magic." He laughed and wiped at his eyes, had he actually been moved to tears?

Cat swallowed hard and thought about all the times she had dreamed of such a chance to try to lay the ghosts that had stalked their nightmares. But it is never the same when you are in the moment. "I'm so glad you came but it wasn't necessary. I mean, you could have called or mailed. I would have been grateful even for that. Mackenzie, I am very sorry about what happened between us and I want you to know that I hold no blame against you. You were right in so many ways. But you must believe, for I will not have you think otherwise, that I ever took anything I shouldn't have when I was pregnant. And the baby was yours. I would never have had a child to any other man in this world nor shall I ever."

Mackenzie held his hands up, gazed at her standing there, dressed in a little white shirt and baggy sweats, hair all bundled up in a topknot but spilling out, face without makeup, fresh, clear- skinned and bright eyed. This is how he loved her best, beautiful Catherine, his wayward girl, the wild, untamed spirit of his dreams.  "I know. I always did really. Something fucking well snapped, Cat. I don't know what it was. But I'm the one who owes the apology. Never you." He hung his head.

Cat smiled and walked towards him to stand before him and tilt her head to look up at him. "The loss of the baby caused me to have an emotional collapse. It caused that for you as well. You were as fragile as I was and nobody understood. You didn't know what you were saying. And you had plenty of reason to doubt me."

She stepped forward and hugged him; he clasped her to him and buried his head in her neck, inhaling the scent of the only woman he had ever truly loved. My true love.

They broke apart, both a little embarrassed at the moment, sniffing back the tears and smiling ruefully. "Fucking actors, eh? Bunch of fucking lovies." Cat teased.

He grinned and held out his hand. "Peace?"

"Peace. Love. And rock and roll," Cat smiled and shook his warm solid hand.

"I've missed you, Cat. But you're better off without me," Mackenzie observed.

She tilted her head. "Well, the jury's out on that one. But I've missed you too."

He looked down at his feet and played with the cuff of his jacket. "You'll find the right guy. Then you'll be glad you weren't saddled with me." A quick smile, his eyes lighting up, a glimmer of the vulnerable man inside.

Cat shook her head. "I found him already. And I lost him. I don't expect to get so lucky twice in life." She hunched her shoulders and blushed at her comment like a shy teenager.

Mackenzie sighed and exhaled. "Cat...I didn't come here to start anything. I'm with someone else now..."

"I know. She seems a nice girl. Really nice. Bet your Mum and Dad like her!"

He nodded. "Yeah, they do. Very much."

They stood awkwardly- what else was there to say? "I better be off, Cat. I've said what I came to say. Take care, sweetheart. You're at the top now - don't let the bastards grind you down, hey?" He turned to go. For a moment she sensed indecision in him and she thought that he would change his mind but he thought better of it and continued walking to the door.

It was her only chance. She took it. "You'll be back though."

He stopped and moaned slightly. "Cat, please, understand, it's too fucking late..."

"You will be back. Don't know when. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Could be a few months. Next year? Doesn't matter. You still love me. I still love you. You don't want to remember - but you do. Every time you close your eyes. Every time you go to places where we went. When you are alone and for a minute you have a flashback and think I am in the next room. I know this, Mackenzie Dunne, because it's how I feel too. I would rather have pain with you than joy with anyone else. A nice, safe, quiet, peaceful life - it is not what we were born for."

With his back still turned to her, he whispered, "Goodbye, Cat."

"You will come back to me. One day. And I will be waiting. My true love."

He opened the door and left, walking briskly down the long corridor to the elevator. His legs felt heavy and his body sluggish. His stomach was heaving and he wondered if he would throw up. He stopped.

Before him were the people who had been chased out of the suite to enable them to meet in private. They had not known where to go. As he burst through the door, they looked expectantly at him, trying to work out the course of the meeting from the look on his face. At first he felt a burst of anger at their presence even at time like this. But he didn't see prurient interest in their expressions; these were her people, some of them even cared for her. They had been with her in the times she had been alone. How sad that the only ones who ever showed her any support were those whom she paid at the end of the month.

Even he had given up on her in the end. Like her parents. How do you do that to someone that you love, just because they are a wild child? Especially when they are a wild child? Crying out for help. Raging at the sun. People like Catherine are the golden ones, the one who should be loved the most.

"Go away. Take the day off. Come back tomorrow. I'll take care of her now..."

He hit the buzzer of the apartment. It was a while before she answered. Her face when she opened the door was pale, but composed. And then it lit up in a shimmering smile when she realized that it was him. The face that launched a film career. The face that had stolen his heart forever.

"You never get it right, Cat. Today...you never thought it would be today. The day I came back. Will you give me a second chance? I can't live without you. Let's go out in a blaze of glory, hey? Rage at the sun together? My true love..."

They moved at the same moment - he picked her up as she jumped into his arms. Spinning and spinning her around, they whirled into the apartment, staggered to the bedroom, tearing at clothes and kissing each other fiercely. Like two forces of nature: the rock and the hard place, the mountain and the sea.

Only when he was buried deep within her did the wild frenzy abate and then they rocked together in a tender, helpless passion. "Mac...I'm not on the pill..."

"Me neither," he murmured.

"I've got a horrendous schedule the next year..."

"Me too..."

"What are we going to do about it?"

"Fuck if I care. How about just doing what we want? What do you want to do, Cat?"

"Never go more than six feet away from you for the rest of my life..."

"Then that's it. Cancel the next year...you and me are making babies...you gonna give me any back chat about that?" he smiled down at her.

She shook her head. "No...boss...just one suggestion....do you fancy a couple weeks in the Caribbean on me? And...when do you plan to tell the girlfriend...?"