Our Story: the new heartwarming and emotional romance fiction book from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  It’s only when I’m on the landing that I see the light coming from Joe’s room. His door is wide open. I have to pass it on my way to the bathroom. Is he asleep? Could I make the journey there and back unnoticed?

  ‘Otts?’

  Crap.

  I could duck into my room, or dash downstairs, but I can’t pretend I’m not here. If he’s awake he will have heard the rattle of my keys at the front door, my footsteps on the stairs. I don’t want to do this now, but he needs to know. Heart heavy, I peer inside.

  Joe is sitting up in bed, a wash of blue light from the screen of his open laptop illuminating the contours of his naked chest. He leans over the edge of the mattress to retrieve a crumpled T-shirt from the floor, putting it on in that weird way of his: arms in first, head through last. ‘Hey. How’d it go?’

  I lean against the doorframe. ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I am. Crazy few days.’

  He smiles back but I can feel he’s steeling himself for more.

  ‘What are you writing?’ I ask.

  ‘Thought I’d jot down some ideas for Eye, Spy 2. Nothing like a bit of optimism, right?’ He looks at me. ‘And I couldn’t sleep.’

  I’m not certain I’ll be able to sleep tonight, either. Not after the conversation we are headed towards. I think Joe knows it’s coming. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘Sure.’ He pats the bed. ‘Come here.’

  Of course it will happen there. The slamming of one door; the uncertain light from the next. Part of me doesn’t want to see his reaction so close. It’s going to hurt like hell. But if we’re ever going to survive this, Joe needs to know.

  I edge into the room, feeling the news swirl around my feet, ushering it into Joe’s space. I’m a harbinger of doom, a messenger bringing shadow in her wake. As soon as I sit next to him, the memory of our night returns. If I could go back to that moment in the moonlight, suspend time long enough to rest my head against Joe and feel that safety, that peace, I would do it now. Just for a little while.

  Instead, I put myself at the nearest edge of a safe distance from him, resting my hand on the duvet as close to his body as I dare.

  ‘I lied, earlier. I wasn’t meeting a friend.’

  Tension flicks in his jaw. In the screen light, his eyes are deep and soulful.

  ‘I met Fraser.’ A wave of emotion swells within me.

  Joe says nothing. Just a single, slow blink and jaw set firm.

  Tears build. I breathe against the tide. ‘It was a date. I should have told you.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’ His gaze slips.

  ‘I really like him. But I wanted you to know first.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it matters to me what you think.’

  His single, smileless laugh pulls his body further into his pillow. On the bed his hand retreats across the sheets, the empty indentation it leaves still close enough for my fingers to touch. ‘Really.’

  Already we’re changing, close enough to feel each other’s breath on our skin, too far apart to bridge the distance. I won’t take it back, or wish I hadn’t come here. I have to move on and Joe does, too. If he cares about me, he’ll come back from this. If not…

  I blink and a tear escapes. I can’t look at him as it falls.

  ‘I’m sorry I lied.’

  I can’t say any more. The bomb has dropped, shattering everything. I need to get out of here…

  And then I feel his hand on mine.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘And I’m never going to like him. But you should be happy. You matter to me.’

  I dare to look into his eyes. His fingers give a single, gentle squeeze.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ he says, his voice low. ‘We’re okay, Otty.’

  It doesn’t feel like we are.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  JOE

  Of course I’m not okay.

  But Otty and I need each other – and Langham isn’t taking that from me.

  It stung last night; I’m not going to lie. I didn’t sleep for hours, replaying the conversation we’d had on my bed, where not so long ago she’d been mine. But when I woke this morning, I made a decision: I’m going to play the long game. Pretty sure Fraser Langham won’t be at Ensign for ever – people like him never are. Right now it appeals to him because of the buzz surrounding Russell’s writing team. But sooner or later, he’ll be headhunted again or go off chasing greater glory. And there’s no way he’d take Otty with him.

  So, I’ll stick it out. Show him he can’t have her all to himself.

  She keeps stealing glances at me as we work today. She’s done it since we met in the kitchen for breakfast this morning. I make sure I smile whenever I catch her looking. We’re waiting for Langham, who is in a meeting with Russell. I’m not looking forward to the moment he comes in and sees her.

  ‘We’re not going to say anything at work,’ she told me as we were driving here. ‘I mean, it’s really early days.’

  ‘I think that’s wise,’ I’d replied.

  Is Fraser Langham capable of wisdom? I guess we’ll find out.

  Rona groans beside me. ‘They’d better not be planning more of these.’ She picks up a stack of index cards and drops them with disgust. ‘Fraser may look like a god but I’m fast becoming agnostic.’

  I glance at Otty, who is deep in conversation with Jake and Tom. ‘Have you spoken to Otty today?’

  Rona folds her arms. ‘About what, Joseph?’

  ‘Er, general stuff?’

  ‘You can always talk to me, you know,’ she says, which throws me a little. Rona Basu is the last person I’d consider a confidante. Largely because she scares me. ‘If there’s anything going on…’

  Not this again. I’d hoped she would forget, but I reckoned without Tenacious-B muscling in. I half-wonder if I should tell her and then swear her to secrecy to make sure the news travels no further. But I’m not altogether sure Rona has fully discarded her lust for Langham, so best to just let Otty deliver that bombshell.

  ‘You might want to talk to her,’ I say because despite everything else, Rona shouldn’t have to find out Otty and Fraser are together when the rest of the room does.

  Otty and Fraser. That’s going to kick for a while.

  ‘Okay, bitches – pitches!’ Russell strides in, Langham sailing in his slipstream. He’s unapologetic when the entire writers’ room team observe him, incredulously. ‘Hey, it works for some showrunners. Thought I’d give it a go.’

  ‘Not when you come from Rotherham, Guv,’ Reece quips and laughter erupts.

  ‘Fair enough. Okay, Fraser and I have gone through the pitches you’ve all been working on and we’ve chosen ones we want to adapt. Full treatments first, please, then we’ll ask for a thirty-minute sample. And I know you will all be very happy when I say this: original partnerships, please.’

  Relief washes around the room. We’ve been at Langham’s whim for far too long. As chairs scrape back and teams reassemble, I look at our script executive. His smile is tight, arms drawn across his body like armour. I bet Russell pulled rank on him. He smiles at Otty and then I swear he makes a point of smiling at me.

  Git.

  ‘Joseph.’

  I jump to find Russell beside me. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Walk with me.’

  Not now… ‘Yeah, sure.’

  I don’t want to leave the room, particularly when Langham rises from his chair and moves to Otty, checking to make sure I see it.

  ‘Joe.’

  ‘Right there, Russ.’

  As I walk out of the room, I catch Otty’s eye. Her smile gives me hope and crushes it all at once. Today I feel even guiltier about discussing her with Russ. Maybe I’ll just tell him now. I think her job’s as safe here as any of ours. Yes, I’m going to tell him. None of her work is down to me. That should be easy enough to say, right?

  To my surprise, Russell doesn’t head for the entrance for our usual circuit
, instead turning left past Daphne’s desk to his office at the far end. That’s thrown me. I scurry after him, trying to remain calm.

  Daphne lifts her head as I pass, biting coyly on the end of her biro. I train my eyes back on Russell. It is way too early for that.

  It’s a relief when the door closes. Otty and Langham and Rona and Daphne and any other nutter who might arrive with fresh chaos – they can all stay on the other side of the oak for as long as possible. My head is awash. I should have just gone to bed last night, hours before Otty came home, instead of staying up and deliberately leaving my door open. I thought she would tell me it was some other bloke, not Fraser. I could have dealt with that.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Russell says, reaching down to open a drawer and slapping a large box on his desk. ‘Cronut?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I got them from the craft bakery in Digbeth this morning,’ he beams. ‘Pure rebellion in pastry form. Likely to stop my heart, but what a way to go, eh?’ He throws a square napkin at me and takes one for himself, using it to lift a round, very sugary pastry filled with a pale green cream. ‘Look at that. Clogged arteries in one handy package. Don’t tell Miri.’

  I hold up my hands. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘Good boy.’ He stretches back in his seat and savours his first bite of pastry. ‘Not going to lie, I’ll be glad to get back to normal today. Team O-Joe back where they belong.’

  Now’s my chance. ‘Actually, Russ, about Otty…’

  ‘Yep, that’s why I wanted a word.’

  ‘The thing is, she doesn’t need any more…’

  ‘Pitches? Tell me about it,’ Russell’s words cancel out mine as they crash across them. ‘So, Fraser’s handing out projects in there but you and Otty don’t have one.’

  Concern ripples through me. ‘How come?’

  ‘Don’t give me that frown, Joseph. It’s good news.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘It is.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And Otty?’

  I stare at him. What does he know? What has he seen? ‘Fine, as far as I know.’

  ‘It can be hard in that room – at such close quarters. Easy to get attached.’

  ‘We’re fine. I just want to say…’

  Russell nods. ‘Good, then. I’m taking you both out of there so we can start work on Eye, Spy 2.’

  All thoughts of what I was about to say vanish. ‘We got the commission?’

  When Russell laughs it’s like sitting in the direct path of a sonic boom.

  ‘I like your faith in us, Joe. No green light yet, but Fraser agrees with me that we need to be ready when it comes. No wasting time. So we’ll meet to thrash out a treatment between the four of us and then I want you and Otty to write episode one. No team credit: you and Otty as named writers.’

  Shit. That’s huge.

  ‘Wow…’

  ‘I think the two of you are perfect. Your scripts, I mean.’ He exhales and leans just a little closer over his desk. ‘They have something none of the others do: connection. Can’t manufacture that. Apart, you’re great; together, you’re awesome. A solid outfit. I will protect that, if it’s what you need.’

  My sleep-weary mind snaps to attention. What is Russell really saying?

  ‘I have no intention of letting her go,’ I reply, not certain what I mean, either.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear!’ Russell slaps his desk, sending a shower of sugar granules dancing across the surface. ‘We’ll begin this afternoon, in the media suite.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  OTTY

  Fraser Langham is a tart.

  I thought we’d agreed last night that we’d keep everything quiet for the time being, give ourselves time to get used to the change and enjoy discovering each other away from the scrutiny of the writers’ room.

  Fraser, it seems, is intent on us being discovered at every opportunity. His hand brushes the nape of my neck as he leans down to talk to Rona and me. His eyes flick to mine at the end of every sentence. And when I nip out at mid-morning break to get my laptop lead from my car, he follows and pulls me into a vacant office next to the lift to kiss me.

  ‘Stop,’ I giggle, but he kisses me more. ‘Whatever happened to we won’t do anything at work?’

  ‘You happened,’ he growls, his lips on my neck. ‘I can’t wait till this evening.’

  At lunch, I see Joe talking to Daphne. She’s mooning up at him, all false eyelashes and lingering looks. Just as I’m contemplating leaving, he jogs over.

  ‘Hey. We’ve got a gig.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This way.’ Joe leads me by the arm to the media suite, checking we aren’t being followed before he closes the door. ‘I reckon we have five minutes before your boyfriend misses you.’

  ‘If you brought me in here just to have a go…’

  ‘No. I just spoke to Russell. We’re starting Eye, Spy season two – now.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Has it been commissioned?’

  ‘Not yet. But Russ wants to be ready when it does. And get this: we get billing for episode one.’

  My mouth goes dry.

  Joe’s eyes are alive. ‘Episode One by Joe Carver and Ottilie Perry. Not the team. Us. Right at the start after a groundbreaking successful first season. Imagine it, Otts! First one of the hotly anticipated new series – and it’s ours!’

  And then it hits me like a thousand fireworks detonating at once. I let out a squeal and Joe grabs my hands. Before I know it, we’re jumping and dancing together in the dimly lit edit room. It ends with a messy, spinning, gangly-armed embrace.

  ‘Er, guys? Russell’s looking for you.’

  We jump apart and turn to see Jake in the doorway, staring at us as if we’re possessed.

  ‘Yeah, great, cheers,’ Joe says, hurrying out.

  ‘Nutters,’ Jake shakes his head as I edge past.

  I stuff my smile away when I see my colleagues, but I’m excited. This is the biggest break of my career – Joe’s too.

  But the moment it’s time for the meeting, he starts acting weird.

  And he isn’t alone…

  It begins when we’re walking from the writers’ room to the media suite. Fraser and Joe flank me on either side, apparently engaged in a silent game of stares. Then Joe touches my arm.

  ‘Hey, Otts, remember that chilli you made us the first night we wrote together?’

  I frown. ‘The one I make for us most Wednesdays?’

  His eyes sparkle. ‘Mm, Wednesday chilli. The first time you made it for me it blew my mind.’

  ‘It did?’

  ‘Don’t be so modest! It was amazing. I wasn’t expecting the intensity. So, so hot…’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘Fan of chilli, Fraser?’ Joe asks

  Beside me, Fraser shifts. ‘Uh, sure.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get to taste it soon. Otty and I have it all the time…’

  I feel Fraser’s hand rest gently on the small of my back. ‘I look forward to it. Although I don’t expect Otty to cook. I prefer to provide the feast…’

  Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  ‘Maybe the two of you should get dinner together, seeing as you’re both such culinary fans,’ I say, moving away from them and opening the media suite door.

  Now we’re inside and working, but I can feel them both gearing up for the next round. What the hell is wrong with them?

  We’re gathered around the conference table, which is really a smaller version of the one in the writers’ room. Joe and I on one side, Fraser and Russell on the other. On the wall a board is already prepared for the index cards we will write to plot out the second season of a show that hasn’t even wrapped filming yet. I don’t know whether that’s blind faith or bloody-mindedness.

  ‘We need an overarching theme,’ Russell says, ‘beyond the cases that Laura Eye is pursuing. Joe, Otty, the fake-therapist plot was inspired.
So what’s next?’

  Joe looks at me. ‘She goes after Dr Montgomery aka Anya Soren?’

  ‘I think so,’ I say.

  Joe smiles.

  ‘Too obvious.’ We turn to Fraser, who I’m convinced is aiming his words straight at Joe.

  Russell taps the table with his pen. ‘How so?’

  ‘It’s what everyone expects. Laura Eye is mortified, on the back foot at work and unable to explain what she knows because it will majorly incriminate her. She gets assigned to find Anya Soren, knowing full well that if she succeeds, Soren can blow the case wide open and destroy her.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘Okay. But the thing is, Russ: that approach has to end season two with success for Laura. Unless you kill her off, which, you know, is always a possibility. But then what’s going to hook viewers into a third season?’

  ‘In the final battle Laura kills Soren but is mortally wounded herself,’ Russell says. ‘We think she’s dead but at the end of the credits we cut to a single shot that suggests she isn’t?’

  Fraser shakes his head. ‘Too obvious. We need a longer arc that takes viewers over two seasons.’

  ‘We’re not guaranteed a second season, let alone a third,’ Joe argues. ‘Leave it hanging at the end of season two and you may well end up with a cancelled story two-thirds in. Think Farscape. Or Merlin. Or even Sense8. It’s too risky.’

  Fraser bristles opposite me. ‘Some of us are brave enough to take a risk, Joe. But I see your point.’

  Russell is watching their exchange with quiet interest. ‘Otty? What do you think?’

  Talk about being put on the spot! I feel the weight of Fraser and Joe’s stares. How did I end up as No Man’s Land in their personal vendetta?

  I think as I speak, praying something coherent will appear. ‘I think either approach would work…’

  My housemate and my date each nod their acceptance of a point scored. It’s an added tension I don’t need and when our session is over today I’m going to put them both straight. This is my opportunity and I am not going to let either of them derail me.