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67.
Meg and I were on the phone with Elton John and his husband, David, and we confessed: We need
help.
We’re sort of losing it here, guys.
Come to us, Elton said.
By which he meant their home in France.
Summer 2019.
So we did. For a few days we sat on their terrace and soaked up their sunshine. We spent long
healing moments gazing out at the azure1 sea, and it felt decadent2, not just because of the luxurious3
setting. Freedom of any kind, in any measure, had come to feel like scandalous luxury. To be out
of the fishbowl for even an afternoon felt like day release from prison.
One afternoon we took a scooter ride with David, around the local bay, down the coastal4 road.
I was driving, Meg was on the back, and she threw out her arms and shouted for joy as we zoomed5
through little towns, smelt6 people’s dinners from open windows, waved to children playing in their
gardens. They all waved back and smiled. They didn’t know us.
The best part of the visit was watching Elton and David and their two boys fall in love with
Archie. Often I’d catch Elton studying Archie’s face and I knew what he was thinking: Mummy. I
knew because it happened so often to me as well. Time and again I’d see an expression cross
Archie’s face and it would bring me up short. I nearly said so to Elton, how much I wished my
mother could hold her grandson, how often it happened that, while hugging Archie, I felt her—or
wanted to. Every hug tinged7 with nostalgia8; every tuck-in touched with grief.
Does anything bring you face-to-face with the past like parenthood?
On the last night we were all experiencing that familiar end-of-holiday malaise: Why can’t it
be like this forever? We were drifting from the terrace to the pool, and back again, Elton offering
cocktails9, David and I chatting about the news. And the sorry state of the press. And what it meant
for the state of Britain.
We got onto books. David mentioned Elton’s memoir10, at which he’d been toiling11 for years. It
was finally done, and Elton was mighty12 proud of it, and the publication date was drawing near.
Bravo, Elton!
Elton mentioned that it was going to be serialized.
Is that so?
Yes. Daily Mail.
He saw my face. He quickly looked away.
Elton, how in the absolute—?
I want people to read it!
But, Elton—? The very people who’ve made your life miserable13?
Exactly. Who better to excerpt14 it? Where better than the very newspaper that’s been so
poisonous to me my whole life?
Who better? I just…I don’t understand.
It was a warm night, so I’d already been sweating. But now beads15 were dripping off my
forehead. I reminded him of the specific lies the Mail had famously printed about him. Hell—he’d
sued them, just over a decade earlier, after they claimed he forbade people at a charity event from
speaking to him.
They’d ultimately written him a check for a hundred thousand pounds.
I reminded him that he’d stirringly said in one interview: “They can say I’m a fat old c—.
They can say I’m an untalented bastard16. They can call me a poof. But they mustn’t lie about me.”
He didn’t have an answer.
But I didn’t push it.
I loved him. I’ll always love him.
And I also didn’t want to spoil the holiday.
1 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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2 decadent | |
adj.颓废的,衰落的,堕落的 | |
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3 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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4 coastal | |
adj.海岸的,沿海的,沿岸的 | |
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5 zoomed | |
v.(飞机、汽车等)急速移动( zoom的过去式 );(价格、费用等)急升,猛涨 | |
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6 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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7 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 nostalgia | |
n.怀乡病,留恋过去,怀旧 | |
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9 cocktails | |
n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 );餐前开胃菜;混合物 | |
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10 memoir | |
n.[pl.]回忆录,自传;记事录 | |
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11 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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12 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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13 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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14 excerpt | |
n.摘录,选录,节录 | |
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15 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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16 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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