SAM
With Mara home at last, I would much rather have been at home to look after her but instead Wednesday found me working on a particularly tedious green-screen shoot in the massive, sprawling Pinewood Studios, situated on the wrong side of the M25. It was unusual to film something so small-scale out there. Most of the companies I worked with used more central studios, but this one had got a sweet deal on the hire. Nice for them, but whatever the production company had saved in money, the crew was paying for that day in time. I had crept out of the house at five this morning to be on set at six thirty, something I complained about bitterly but silently, as many of the crew had travelled another hour on top of that to get there. The joys of the production world, I thought as I yawned into my third coffee of the morning. I was always bemused at parties when people found out what I did for a living and then said, ‘Ooooh, that must be really glamorous!’
‘Yes, really glamorous,’ I would answer them, holding out my work-chapped hands for inspection. ‘This is what my hands look like after three days on set.’ The person trying to make polite conversation with me would look at me, their face blank, and change the subject quickly or find an excuse to wander off. Granted, that really only ever happened when I was out in Petersfield, a rare, once-a-year-at-Christmas cringefest. London parties were infinitely worldlier. In fact it was hard to find someone to talk to who didn’t work in the industry in London, which could be equally boring. I yawned again. At least the money from today would get me much closer to being in the black again with dear Mara. She looked so small coming home, a good couple of inches shorter and at least one dress size skinnier. It had broken my heart seeing Ed walking up the stairs slowly with her yesterday evening. She had looked at me as I waited anxiously at the top of the stairs and said, ‘These stairs have been vacuumed! Have you completely lost your mind?’
Not hello, no it’s good to be home. No, Mara Minkley talks about the state of the carpet. It was brilliant.
The art director was painstakingly arranging the packaging of the erectile-dysfunction treatment on a green plinth, which sat in front of the green screen. With him were three others: the DOP, director and gaffer – all men, all geeking it out together, fiddling with the arrangement of the pill box, the lighting, the camera angle, taking shot after shot after shot. The irony of the men all gathered around the all-important plinth and not being able to quite achieve the shot was not lost on me. I’d crack a joke about it if I wasn’t so bored and tired. If I had someone to joke with.
I looked around the room. There were about twenty people all up. No one I was working with that day I could call a good friend, and there was no one I could have a good giggle with. I wasn’t working with my usual first – I had picked up the job last minute when his usual third was laid up sick. I knew rationally that if I made the effort I would find someone to laugh with but I just couldn’t be bothered. My job felt very stale. I sighed.
The last time I’d really enjoyed my job was when Ed worked with me. I wondered if we’d work together again soon. I smiled as I remembered the look on Katherine’s face when he’d sorted out the issue of the car being in the way. Brilliant. It would be so much more fun if he were here now.
‘Scene nine wrapped, set up for scene one, thank you,’ the first’s voice crackled quietly out of the radio on my hip, cutting across my thoughts, and I shoved my phone guiltily into my pocket. I may have been feeling sick of my job but I sure as hell didn’t want anyone accusing me of slacking off. I should have seen that coming, been ready for the next scene and prepping whoever needed to be prepped. I glanced at my call sheet. Scene one was the actor talking direct to camera, introducing the product. Shit, the talent! I hadn’t even noticed the talent arrive. Had she even arrived?
I hurried over to the dressing room, knocked once and entered. There was the make-up artist, and the wardrobe assistant, and as they glanced up and moved slightly I could see, sitting in front of the mirror, the actor. I breathed out a sigh of relief.
‘Hi everyone – oh!’ I felt the colour drain out of my face and then flood back at double strength as I took in the pretty face of the woman who had turned round in her chair to say hello. It was none other than the ex. I couldn’t believe it. Lucy!
‘Oh hello.’ Lucy smiled cautiously. She was trying to place me. ‘Oh, you’re Charlie’s old friend!’
‘What are you doing here? I mean . . . I thought you were a doctor?’ I stammered, my mouth dry.
Lucy laughed lightly and – I realised with shock – nervously. ‘Oh, only just, I’m doing a bit of this on the side, to help pay off some student debts.’
Debt? Her? Wouldn’t Mummy and Daddy have paid for everything?
There was a rap on the door followed instantly by the door opening quickly, slamming into my shoulder before I could move out of the way.
‘Jesus!’ I yelled and Lucy’s face creased with concern.
‘Oh, sorry, Sam. There you are!’ It was one of the runners, straight out of film school and really brimming with energy, the little bugger.
‘Here I am, right by the bloody door.’ I glared at him, rubbing my shoulder.
The runner looked at me, his head poking through the doorway, not coming into the room any further than necessary. He nodded to my radio. ‘Mark’s been trying to speak to you on that but you’re not picking up.’
I glanced down – no light, dead battery. Not a good look. The radios on set were my responsibility. If I haven’t noticed the battery dying then I wasn’t paying enough attention, period.
‘Tell him I’ll have her on set in five, OK?’ I said and shut the door. I would have to work really hard for the rest of the day to get anywhere near Mark’s good books or he’d always think twice about hiring me again.
‘Are you OK?’ Lucy was at my side, rubbing my shoulder.
‘I’m OK, thanks.’ I rolled my shoulder, testing it gingerly. I’ll live. The shock was worse than the pain. Recognising Lucy and then getting slammed into by a door was not an ideal combination.
‘Are you ready?’ I asked.
‘Another minute and she’s all yours,’ Roz, the make-up artist, assured me, while Sian, in charge of Lucy’s wardrobe, gave me the thumbs up.
‘Don’t worry about me, let’s just get you ready.’ I ushered Lucy back into her chair.
‘Are you sure?’ She still looked concerned.
I smiled. ‘I’m fine really, and I’ll be in a much worse state with Mark if you’re late!’
Lucy caught my eye in the mirror, letting it linger slightly.
‘You’ll make a good doctor,’ I said.
‘I hope so,’ she answered.
‘Quiet for a sec, Lucy, and close your eyes.’ Roz brushed a huge powder brush over her face. ‘OK, now open them.’
Lucy looked at her obediently and Roz looked over her work carefully. Satisfied with what she saw, she removed the protective cape from around Lucy’s neck and beckoned her to stand up. Sian gave her the once-over, and both women pronounced her ready. Underneath her doctor’s coat she was dressed in a crisp white shirt, tucked into a very fitted grey pencil skirt, which ended just below the knee. Her feet were in black heels, which had the mere hint of sexy professional woman about them, not quite sensible but still serious. Her blonde hair was immaculately swept back into a French twist. She looked exactly right: young and fresh, yet professional – someone you could believe.
‘You look great!’ I said, meaning it, and I led her into the studio.
As we walked over to the director, Lucy confided, ‘This is my first time doing something this big.’
‘Really? You’re so relaxed, I would never have guessed that,’ I whispered back.
‘I’m scared shitless!’
I patted her on the arm. ‘You’ll be fine – you’re the doctor, remember?’ And I smiled at her encouragingly as I handed her over to the director, a squat man with a thick black beard.
My day became infinitely more interesting after that. I tried very hard to dislike her but it was hard when she’d been so nice to me. Not only that but she took her job seriously and didn’t spend the whole time flirting with the crew. She was smart and a good listener. Strangely it seemed that everyone around her seemed to blossom in her presence – they became more interesting, warmer and all round better company. The crew I had thought were boring, drab and lacking in soul at the beginning of the day were all potential lifelong friends by the end of it.
Lucy was wrapped at five o’clock. After she had changed and said goodbye to the relevant people (all beaming at her and telling her how wonderful she was), I fought off stiff competition to walk her out to the shuttle bus that ran between the studios and the Tube station.
‘You did really well in there,’ I enthused, my Puffa making its endlessly satisfying rasp-rasp-rasp as I swung my arms.
‘Thanks, it helped to have a familiar face around,’ Lucy replied.
We walked through the massive humming complex, chatting about the crew, about the day. Both waiting for the other to bring up the uncomfortable subject that lay between us.
There was a pause in the conversation and finally Lucy brought him up.
‘So you’ve heard about Charlie and me?’
‘I was there.’
Lucy wrinkled her nose and then shook her head. ‘You were? I can’t remember much from that night. After I left I got very drunk.’
‘He seemed pretty upset about it. He said you’d split up with him, is that true?’ I was surprised I’d said that. The last thing I needed was Lucy feeling sorry for him.
‘Did he?’ Lucy sounded mildly concerned. Her lips pursed together. ‘I expect he was quite surprised.’
‘Have you met someone else?’ I asked.
Lucy laughed, bitterly. ‘No, no. I was quite dazzled by him, haven’t even glanced at another man since we got together. It was more that—’
We’d come outside a different way than I was used to and I had to pause to get my bearings, and Lucy stopped talking. We set off again, turning right and right again, getting nearer the bus stop. I hoped I’d hear the rest of the explanation before we had to say goodbye but she’d gone quite quiet. We halted at the bus stop, our arms crossed against the cold.
Eventually I couldn’t bear waiting any longer. ‘So – what happened with Charlie that made you split up with him?’
‘You know, I shouldn’t really be talking to a friend of Charlie’s about this.’
‘We’re not that close,’ I mumbled.
‘Really?’ Lucy looked intently at me for a moment and I felt my face grow warm.
‘No . . . I mean, we knew each other a long time ago but I-I haven’t had much to do with him for ages,’ I stuttered.
‘Well, I’d had my suspicions for a while. And then at that party, I thought I saw him go outside with a woman – I don’t know who – and something snapped inside me.’
I swallowed nervously.
‘I didn’t know for sure that he was playing around but it just didn’t feel right.’ She shrugged. ‘And if he wasn’t then, I suddenly realised it would only have been a matter of time before he did cheat on me.’
I crawled with shame and wished it wasn’t me, the worst person possible in the world for Lucy to be confiding in. I’m the one he was playing away with. I’m the one who stood in Lucy’s shoes all those years ago in a student pub in Warwick. I’m the idiot who should know better but can’t help herself. How did he do it? Charming all these otherwise intelligent women?
Over the top of the puggy lump of shame in my tummy came that familiar wave, the urge to share. Don’t do it! my head shouted at me but it wasn’t loud enough to stop it. My mouth was already open—
‘I wish I’d done the same.’
‘What?’ Lucy looked at me, confused.
It was too late – the sharing was going to just start gushing out. My shoulders sagged in dread.
‘I wish I’d got out before he dumped me,’ I said.
‘Who dumped you—?’ Lucy’s eyes widened and then narrowed in understanding. ‘You mean Charlie. You’re another ex-girlfriend. I can’t believe it.’ She shook her head.
‘What do you mean – you can’t believe he’d go out with me?’
‘No, of course not. I just feel like I’ve met far too many of them. There are thousands of you littered all over town. It’s just that, here I am, having the best day I’ve had in ages, and the woman whose company I’m enjoying is another one of his bloody ex-girlfriends!’
I coloured again.
‘Sorry. If it helps, my life would have been much better if I hadn’t gone out with him.’
Lucy snorted. ‘That I do believe.’
The shuttle bus pulled in and the waiting gaggle of people shuffled forward. Lucy was pushed closer to the bus by the firm, polite queue.
‘It was nice to meet you again,’ I said stupidly, self-consciously, as the doors opened and Lucy moved towards the steps. She turned before she boarded and called to me, ‘One thing – what were you doing in our flat that day?’
The people waiting behind us sighed a collective sigh of impatience and I scrabbled for an answer.
‘We were catching up, nothing more!’ I called brightly, willing myself not to blush or look away, and Lucy held my gaze for a brief moment then turned with a wave and got on the bus. I watched her walk down the aisle inside and take her seat. She sat on the side closest to me and was busying herself with her bag. I kept half an eye on her – not wanting to look like I was staring – willing her to acknowledge me – please don’t let our talk end like that. The door closed and I looked up one last time to wave. Lucy was inserting earphones into her little ears and she looked down at me, an infinitely more guarded smile on her face. The sort you make out of habit.
‘Crap,’ I muttered to myself, watching the bus creep out onto the drive and head off to the station. I felt like a dog.