by Jane Fallon
‘I’m not suggesting you should do the same thing or that you would be out for revenge too, I just want to ask you to help me break them up. And not to let them know we know until they do.’
That’s it, my pitch. Who could blame him if he refused to have anything to do with it?
‘I don’t know, Paula. I don’t know if I can act normally around her. Around either of them. I have to work with them, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But at least that way when they do break it off you’ll know it’s because they wanted to, not just because you told her she had to.’
The silence goes on so long I wonder if we’ve been cut off. I take my phone from my ear and look at it. Three bars.
‘Josh?’
‘I’m here,’ he says. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘After it’s over you’ll hold all the cards. You can decide to confront her or not.’
‘I know, I know,’ he says impatiently. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s a lot, you know.’
‘You can opt out any time. Just make sure you tell me.’
There’s another pause, and then he says, ‘OK. I’ll try, that’s all I can say.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So what’s your plan for splitting them up?’
‘Not much beyond trying to make them feel guilty, really.’
We agree to meet up in a couple of days. It’s a start.
I’m too full of nervous energy to go straight home. I pound up to the top of the hill, wanting the discomfort of physical exertion to overwhelm any other feelings I might have. I think about Saskia waking up, full of the joys of Sunday, and whether she’ll notice that her husband’s view of her has changed forever. He’ll smile at her indulgently but it won’t quite reach his eyes. It gives me a little thrill to think about it. By the time I reach the top I’m pouring with sweat and puffing like a steam train. I turn around to head back down and I’m seized by the urge to run. So I do. With all the grace of Lee Evans stumbling around the stage, I career down to the bottom, arms flailing. It’s exhilarating. And it’s downhill all the way, obviously, which helps.
The next time I see Josh is two days later. He’s called and asked if I want to meet for a coffee. I’m surprised, to say the least, but I’m not about to pass up the chance to find out what’s going on. We meet in a café in Holland Park. All chi-chi green tea and macha powder.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ I ask as I sit down. He’s already there, drinking something that looks suspiciously like a flat white but might be a latte. I defy anyone to tell the difference. It’s the middle of the filming day and, I assume, producers are a necessity.
‘They won’t miss me for a few hours.’ He shrugs. ‘Robert and Sas are doing a run of scenes in their kitchen, so at least I know they’re occupied.’
‘How’s it been?’
His eyes are red-rimmed, as if he’s not been sleeping, with added bouts of crying. I panic that he’s given himself away.
‘Bad,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry, she still doesn’t know I know,’ he adds, as if he can read my mind.
‘No disrespect, but she must be blind if she can’t see something’s wrong. You look like shit.’
‘Thanks.’ He laughs. ‘I’ve told her I’ve got terrible hayfever. There’s lots of sniffing and rubbing my eyes going on.’
‘Have you noticed anything different about her … now you know?’
He hesitates for a moment while the waitress hovers and I order myself a peppermint tea. I was so nervous about meeting up with him that I downed three coffees in quick succession this morning and then had to go for a walk to calm myself down.
‘No, but then I’ve always known she was a good actress.’
I manage to hold my scoff.
‘She even talked about Robert. Complained that he kept stepping on her lines in some scene or other.’
‘Classic. Robert’s always moaning about her too. That’s obviously their smokescreen.’
He takes a sip of his giant coffee. ‘I think they genuinely used not to get on. Unless you think this has been going on since series one?’
It doesn’t bear thinking about. That Robert might have been deceiving me for five years. I shake my head. ‘No. It’s like the plot of a bad play. Two people loathe each other so much there’s obviously some kind of underlying sexual tension.’
Josh laughs, and his face is transformed, the hard edges gone ‘We actually did a story like that last year, do you remember? I thought it was a stinking cliché at the time. I wanted to cut it but I’d only just arrived and I didn’t want all the writers to walk out.’
‘Oh yes! Saskia’s character and the vet! You see, truth mirrors fiction.’
His expression changes again. ‘Do you think the writers knew about Sas and Robert and they thought it’d be funny to base a story on them?’
I shrug. ‘Stranger things have happened. You can’t start worrying about whether or not people know. Not now.’
He stirs his spoon around in his half-drunk coffee. Looks up at me with a slight smile on his face. ‘It’s the story conference next week.’
Farmer Giles is like a cross between a soap and a regular drama in that it never really stops filming. They make twenty-three episodes a year with a two-week break at Christmas and a month off in the summer. People can’t get enough of its cosy rural shenanigans. It’s ridiculously old-fashioned and melodramatic and it goes through storylines like Taylor Swift goes through boyfriends.
Every year, just before the summer break, the producers and writers have a big story conference where everyone pitches ideas and they try to make sure they have enough material for the coming series. This is also the point where the decision is made to write characters out or introduce new blood. I think for a moment that he might be hinting he could write Robert out. Much as I want revenge, I don’t think my daughter’s father losing his job would be a good idea.
Josh must be able to read my expression because he says, ‘I don’t mean … we could have some fun with storylines, though …’
Once the cast members are secure that their contracts have been renewed for another series, their attentions turn to their story arcs. Because, post story conference, straight characters have been known to become gay, or vice versa, lovers have turned out to be siblings. One actor who had been playing a sweet and gentle husband and father for three years discovered overnight that he had apparently been a serial killer all that time. Let’s just say there’s not much point in a cast member trying to give their character depth because they don’t really know them at all. No one does.
It’s always amazing how personally some of them take it. Robert used to laugh at the annual protestations of ‘my character would never do that’ as being precious. But that’s probably because Hargreaves has remained fairly consistent since the beginning.
‘Ha! Oh my God, can we give them something awful?’ I suddenly feel the most positive I have in weeks. Even though this is a pointless exercise in terms of breaking Robert and Saskia up, it will make me happy. And I’ll get the chance to play sympathetic wife. ‘What would be Saskia’s worst nightmare?’
He doesn’t even have to hesitate. ‘Losing her looks.’
‘So you could have her disfigured somehow. An accident.’
‘No, that would be too dramatic. She’d love it, because she’d think she’d end up winning a BAFTA. Better if we just have it as an ongoing theme that she’s let herself go.’
‘Put on weight! You could make her really fat.’
Even though everyone is sworn to secrecy after the story conference until the scripts emerge weeks later, there are always leaks. Robert always comes home with some titbit he’s picked up, face glowing with schadenfreude. Because Josh and Saskia are married, though, he can obviously fill her in with whatever he feels like. And anyway, in this case, the actress would need to be let into the secret, whoever she was, so she can start stocking up on pies.
Josh laughs. ‘She’d have to spend the whole summer break putting on the pounds. Oh God, that might be genius.’
‘Do it, please.’
‘She’ll kill me.’
‘It’ll be worth it. It’ll help too. Robert is such a looks fascist.’
‘I’d have to convince the writers too, obviously. Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be too hard. I’m not sure she’s their favourite person.’
I’ve heard stories of Saskia storming on to the set announcing that the latest script is shit and whoever has written it couldn’t get a job writing manuals on how to use a fridge-freezer. Mind you, I’ve only heard this from Robert, so who knows how much truth there is in it?
‘And I’ll need to come up with a story to go with it. You can’t just say “someone gets fat”. There needs to be a reason.’
‘Details,’ I say. ‘You can do it. What else?’
‘OK,’ he says, and I can see he’s warming to the theme. ‘Something for Robert.’
‘He couldn’t stand to be a hate figure. He loves the adulation he gets. All those old ladies thinking he’s a sweetheart.’
Josh smiles. ‘What would be the worst thing we could make him? I know! A paedophile!’
‘Jesus. That might be going too far. I don’t think Georgia …’
‘You’re right. Wrong show anyway. We’d lose half our viewers. What else? Violent drunk? Wife beater?’
‘Haven’t you already done both of those with other characters?’
‘God knows. Probably. Fraudster? I’ve got it. You say the old ladies love him? Well, let’s make Hargreaves a conman, conning the local elderly out of their savings.’
‘Perfect. Turns out he’s been ripping them off for their precious family heirlooms for years. He needs to be really mean.’
‘Vile,’ he agrees. ‘And I’ll try and back-seed it into the first couple of episodes.’
The first two or three episodes of the next season are already written to some extent or other because of the fast turnaround, he tells me. Post story conference there is always a scrabble to rewrite sections to accommodate the new story arcs. This way Robert will get to hear the news soon. There’s no point planting these landmines and then not detonating them till after it’s all over.
We get on to other things we might do to make their working lives a misery. Hargreaves will have a fling with Marilyn, the younger (and soon to be prettier, once Saskia’s Melody has ‘let herself go’) local barmaid. Pneumatic and raven-haired. Obviously, Robert will love this, the idea that Hargreaves is still perceived as virile enough to appeal to a woman half his age, but it’ll be a huge blow to Saskia’s pride. She likes to think of herself as the show’s siren. In turn, we decide, she’ll make a pass at a handsome stablehand and he’ll laugh in her face.
Robert’s Hargreaves will go into business with the brash alpha male Smyth. Not a problem in itself, except that Robert loathes Jez, the actor playing Smyth, with a passion. (Mind you, he ‘loathed’ Saskia, in so far as I was concerned, until a couple of weeks ago so, who knows, maybe him and Jez are an item too.) He can’t stand to be in the same room as him and, from what Josh tells me, is actually scared of him because Jez is a bit of a violent psycho. Robert is not good at being scared. It’s definitely not his happy place.
‘I’ll need to work on these ideas to make sure I can get the writers to agree. We all vote on each story so I need to get them on side,’ he says again, and I find myself hoping he’s not an ineffectual wet lettuce who they’ll all gang up on and walk all over if they don’t like his ideas. He doesn’t seem as if he would be, but you never know. I remember Robert moaning about him being unimpressive but then Robert had his own agenda.
‘Of course,’ I say, ‘even if only one of them gets through, it’s something.’
I look at my phone. We’ve been here an hour and it’s flown by. Who knew revenge could be such fun? I think Josh is feeling the same. I can’t imagine living with Saskia is a barrel of laughs. It’s hard to picture the two of them cracking up over something stupid.
‘I should probably get back,’ he says now, waving at the waitress for the bill. He brushes away my offer of a fiver.
‘You’re OK, though?’ I say, feeling a bit guilty.
His face falls and I wish I hadn’t asked. Maybe the past hour making each other laugh and poking fun at the people who are betraying us was worth far more than talking about how upset we are. ‘It’s shit, what can I say. I’ll be glad when we break for the summer.’
‘It can’t be easy having to watch them together.’
‘Why do you think I asked you to meet me now? It was either that or watch them having a make-up snog in their kitchen fifteen times in a row.’
My stomach turns over. I’ve always felt OK with Robert having to do love scenes with his on-screen partner. I mean, it’s not as if he’s in Fifty Shades of Grey. In Farmer Giles, even sitting in bed next to someone of the opposite sex fully clothed and with the covers pulled up to your chin is seen as a bit risqué. But kissing, hugging, all that stuff, I didn’t care. Why would I? Acting is a job like any other. But the idea of them doing it now, thinking they’re getting one over on everybody by hiding in plain sight, makes me feel sick.
‘No more kissing scenes,’ I say, before I can stop myself.
‘Agreed.’
10
‘I’m only going for a few weeks!’
Georgia looks mortified. She’s on her way to Ibiza with a bunch of friends, exams over. We are both taking her to Luton to wave her off. She’s been away with her mates several times before so it’s no big deal, but this time it feels symbolic. She’s left school. She’s on her way out of the door for good. I get the impression Robert is thinking a version of the same thing because he sniffs back a tear as we wait to wave her through Departures.
‘Three weeks,’ I say. ‘I’ve never not seen you for three weeks in a row since the day you were born.’
She looks around, notices that Eliza’s mum and dad are looking a bit sniffly too and relaxes just enough to accept our hugs. Robert and I end up circling her with our arms at the same time, which makes it feel as if we’re embracing each other with George squashed in the middle. I fight the urge to pull away and push him off at the same time.
After she’s left, Robert and I stand there, waiting, as if unsure what to do next. And then a pair of old ladies, smartly dressed for their trip in that way that old people dress up for travelling, like they do for dinner, spot him and start beetling towards us, no doubt to ask for a picture.
‘Shall we go?’ I say, not letting on that I’ve seen them.
‘Sure,’ he says, but they’re too quick for me, calling out his name in loud voices that cause every other person in the place to turn around to look too. All of a sudden it’s like being in a zombie film, although the protagonist isn’t in danger of being eaten, rather of being photographed to death.
‘Shit,’ I mutter under my breath before I can stop myself. I know that’s half the morning gone right there.
‘I’d better just … sorry …’ He turns to the crowd with a beaming smile, ever the professional.
As I watch him get engulfed, elbowed out of the way by more than one old dear, I check my phone for messages. I’ve been doing this all week, like it was my full-time job, waiting to hear from Josh. So far only one short missive. In return to my question ‘How’s it going?’ on Thursday I received a not very enlightening ‘All good’ back. The story conference, I know, was on Wednesday and Thursday. I wonder if he bottled out of pitching any of our ideas and whether that’s a sign that he might bottle out in a bigger way altogether.
I’m about to dash off another text when one appears as if by magic.
‘Are you free to chat?’
Of course, Saskia will be at Bikram, toning up her lovely body. I’m tempted to risk it. Robert is still surrounded by the undead and by the look of it will be for some time. I decide it’s worth the chance. If anyone will understand if I hav
e to end the call suddenly, it’s Josh.
‘If I hang up, don’t call me back,’ I say before he even has a chance to say hello.
‘Of course,’ he says, as if that’s the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’ll be quick anyway. I just wanted to tell you it couldn’t have gone better. All our ideas went through.’
‘Ha! That’s amazing. Well done.’
‘The script editors are just plotting them through, but it’s safe to say Saskia will be having to eat for three or four from now on.’
‘Have you told her yet?’
‘No. She’s going to kill me. Obviously, I’m never going to admit it was my idea. I’ll tell her I argued against it but I was outnumbered. She’ll just think I’m ineffectual.’
I glance over at the throng around Robert, see him look my way as if to say, ‘Can you come and save me?’, turn back to the phone.
‘Well done, you.’
‘I thought you’d want to know. And we’re going to plant the first seed of Robert’s villainous conman career into ep one. That means I’m justified in telling him about it during the break.’
I look at my husband, surrounded by his adoring demographic, not one of them under seventy.
‘Perfect.’ I suddenly realize that Robert is on his way towards me, beaming apologetically at his fans and gesturing at me as if to say I need him to get moving for some reason. The second he’s out of the clutches of the last of them, his expression changes to one of accusatory irritation.
‘Got to go,’ I say, and end the call with Josh without waiting for him to say goodbye.
‘Why the hell didn’t you rescue me?’ Robert says, furious. That’s always my role, by the way. I have to play bad cop and drag him away while he protests that he’d much rather stay and talk to the ‘great unwashed’, as he refers to them in private.
‘Sorry. Myra called.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘I thought I was never going to get away.’
‘It’s so sweet how much they adore you, though, isn’t it? At least you’re lucky you’re playing such a sympathetic character.’ I try not to smirk as I say this.
