JUST HOURS BEFORE THAT statement went out, Meg was on her way to see me. She drove to Toronto’s Pearson International Airport, paps chasing her, and made her way carefully through the crowds of travelers, feeling jittery, exposed.
The lounge was full, so an Air Canada representative took pity on her and hid her in a side room. Even brought her a plate of food.
By the time she landed at Heathrow my statement was everywhere. And changing nothing. The onslaught continued.
In fact, my statement generated a whole new onslaught—from my family. Pa and Willy were furious. They gave me an earful. My statement made them look bad, they both said.
Why in hell?
Because they’d never put out a statement for their girlfriends or wives when
they were being harassed.
So this visit wasn’t like previous ones. It was the complete opposite. Instead of walking around Frogmore gardens, or sitting in my kitchen talking dreamily about the future, or just getting to know each other, we were stressed out, meeting lawyers, searching for ways to combat this madness.
As a rule, Meg wasn’t looking at the internet. She wanted to protect herself, keep that poison out of her brain. Smart. But not sustainable if we were going to wage a battle for her reputation and physical safety. I needed to know exactly what was fact, what was false, and that meant asking her every few hours about something else that had appeared online.
Is this true? Is that true? Is there a grain of truth in this?
She’d often begin to cry. Why would they say that, Haz? I don’t understand.
Can they just make stuff up?
Yes they can. And yes they do.
Still, despite the mounting stress, the terrible pressure, we managed to protect our essential bond, never snapping at each other during those few days. As we came to the final hours of her visit, we were solid, happy, and Meg announced she wanted to make me a special goodbye lunch.
There was nothing in my fridge, as usual. But there was a Whole Foods down the street. I gave her directions, the safest route, past the Palace guards, turn right, towards Kensington Palace Gardens, down to Kensington High Street, there’s a police barrier, take a right and you’ll see Whole Foods. It’s massive, you can’t miss it.
I had an engagement but I’d be home soon.
Baseball cap, jacket, head down, side gate. You’ll be fine, I promise.
Two hours later, when I got home, I found her inconsolable. Sobbing.
Shaking.
What is it? What’s happened?
She could barely get the story out.
She’d dressed just as I’d advised, and she’d run happily, anonymously, up and down the supermarket aisles. But as she rode the escalator a man approached. Excuse me, do you know where the exit is?
Oh, yes, I think it’s just up here to the left.
Hey! You’re on that program—Suits, am I right? My wife loves you. Oh. That’s so nice! Thanks. What’s your name?
Jeff.
Nice to meet you, Jeff. Please tell her I said thanks for watching. I will. Can I get a picture…you know, for my mum?
Thought you said it was your wife. Oh. Yeah. Heh.
Sorry, I’m just grocery shopping today.
His face changed. Well, even if I can’t take a picture WITH you…that doesn’t stop me taking pictures OF you!
He whipped out his phone and followed her to the deli counter, snapping away while she looked at the turkey. F the turkey, she thought, hurrying to the checkouts. He followed her there too.
She got into the queue. Before her were rows and rows of magazines and newspapers, and on all of them, under the most shocking and disgusting headlines…was her. The other customers noticed as well. They looked at the magazines, looked at her, and now they too pulled out their phones, like zombies.
Meg caught two cashiers sharing a horrible smile. After paying for her groceries, she walked outside, straight into a group of four men with their iPhones aimed at her. She kept her head down, rushed up Kensington High Street. She was nearly home when a horse-drawn carriage came rolling out of Kensington Palace Gardens. Some sort of parade: the Palace gate was blocked. She was forced back along the main road, where the four men picked up the scent again, and chased her all the way to the main gate, screaming her name.
When she finally got inside Nott Cott, she’d phoned her best girlfriends, each of whom asked: Is he worth this, Meg? Is anyone worth this?
I put my arms around her, said I was sorry. So sorry.
We just held each other, until I slowly became aware of the most delicious smells.
I looked around. Hang on. You mean…after all that…you still made lunch? I wanted to feed you before I left.
