Grounded

by A. E. Radley

  “Okay, yes, Skype lunches it is. I’d better get back to check on Henry.”

  “Okay, darling. Best of luck, with Henry and with Emily. And, seriously, about that bridesmaid thing, pink just washes me out.”

  Olivia laughed. “Goodbye, Nic.”

  * * *

  Emily sat in bed with her antiquated laptop, staring at the document Nicole had e-mailed over to her. She’d hardly made any headway into it, apart from reading it cover to cover at least eight times. How to fix the problems was another matter entirely, and the enormity of the task ahead was starting to panic her.

  In the past, Emily had always written for pleasure, for her own benefit. Now she was being asked to edit a script—a real live script—that would be turned into a play that people would pay good money to see. Theatre productions cost hundreds of thousands to put on, and a failure could easily mean bankruptcy. The stakes were high, and the pressure to deliver the right script, immense. If Emily delivered anything substandard, Nicole would ditch the project and that would be the end of it. No second chances.

  The biggest problem was that Emily knew exactly what she wanted to do, but it was a risk. It would mean a complete rewrite; more than Nicole had requested. It meant the removal of at least two characters and a plot twist that had Emily giddy with excitement.

  But Emily’s instructions had been to tweak the script, add some pages, and tighten the plot. Having never worked in the industry before, she was struggling, and had been scrolling the wheel on her mouse up and down for the past hour.

  Chewing the inside of her mouth nervously, Emily flicked to another screen and opened her e-mail. She selected Nicole’s most recent message and started to type a reply. After spending far too much time on the simple four-line e-mail, Emily hit the Send button and let out a deep sigh.

  Her mind wandered to Olivia, and she wondered how she was getting on with Henry. She hadn’t dared to call, because she knew she would want to drop everything to go over there and spend time with them. If she ignored her responsibilities, maybe the whole stressful situation would just go away?

  Her mobile phone rang, and Nicole’s number illuminated the screen. With a nervous swallow, she picked up the phone and took a deep breath before answering the call.

  “Hi, Nicole.”

  “Hi, Emily. I just got your e-mail,” Nicole replied cheerfully.

  “I’m sorry if it’s a stupid question.” Emily winced, wondering if Nicole had called to tell her that the deal was off. “I just want to make sure it’s all right.”

  “Definitely not a stupid question,” Nicole soothed. “If I’m understanding what you’ve written, you want to move the crisis point to the start of the first act, and kill off Meredith and Will?”

  “Yes. I know it’s a lot, but I kind of think it would—”

  “Oh, I love it. It’s a departure from the original script, but I understand why you want to do it. It means more work for you, but it would improve the script, it fits in with our criteria for fewer actors, and it removes that complicated scene at the start of the second act. As long as you’re happy with the final result and it meets the list of requirements I sent you, I don’t see a problem. My primary goal is that you’re happy with the script you send us.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Emily agreed.

  “Then go for it.” Nicole chuckled. “Just bring me the drama. Bring me the passion.”

  Emily laughed. “Okay, I will. I’m sorry. I was just having a crisis of confidence. I’m really new to all of this.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. I was actually about to call you anyway,” Nicole said. “I gave your script about the blind teacher to a friend of mine who runs a theatre company in Edinburgh. He. Loves. It.”

  Emily felt her body start to shake with nerves and quickly shoved her laptop off her lap and onto the bed.

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “No, he loves it. He wants to buy it and put it on in his shabby little underground theatre.” Nicole laughed.

  “Wow…okay, how do I sign up?” Emily chuckled.

  “Oh, darling, you need a manager,” Nicole told her. “The very first person I showed it to wants to buy it, and I’m not joking when I say shabby little theatre. It’s a dive. We can do better.”

  Emily’s mouth fell open. “Okay,” she managed to say. “I really don’t know anything about this.”

  “That’s fine. We were all new to the industry once,” Nicole said. “I can put you in touch with a couple of managers if you like? Or I could represent you? But I don’t know if that may be a conflict of interest?”

  Emily quickly replied, “I’d love for you to represent me, if you can? If you have time? I mean. I don’t know anything about this industry, and I certainly don’t know anyone in this industry, other than you.”

  “I’d love to,” Nicole confessed. “I get to tell everyone how I discovered you.”

  Emily laughed. “I still can’t quite believe this is happening. I keep thinking it’s a dream and I’ll wake up.”

  “Oh, you say that now, but once you’re up against a script change deadline with some irritating producer breathing down your neck, you’ll think it’s a nightmare. Oh, wait, that’s exactly where you are.” Nicole chuckled.

  “Still a lot better than my last two jobs,” Emily admitted.

  “Olivia told me about your schedule at Crown once. It made my head swim,” Nicole said. “Well, as your newly hired manager, here’s what I think. Obviously, I’m not in the know on your financial situation, but if you would like me to arrange for the sale of your script to Daniel in Edinburgh, I can, of course, do that. But I’m confident we could get more money by shopping around. However, if you need the money now, then we can make the deal. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “What kind of figures are we talking about?”

  “Well, Daniel would pay the minimum, which is four thousand pounds. We need your human calculator of a girlfriend to correctly calculate taxes and exchange rate, but let’s say that’s around five thousand dollars,” Nicole explained.

  “Five thousand dollars?” Emily’s heart felt like it was beating out of her chest.

  “Yes,” Nicole confirmed distractedly. “I’m pretty sure we could get more like fifteen thousand pounds for it if we find the right producer. Which would be around twenty, twenty-one thousand dollars.”

  Emily slid from the bed to the floor as her body shook harder. She scooted up so her back was supported against the wardrobe door, not trusting her muscles to keep her upright.

  “Right,” she said shakily.

  “You have other scripts, besides the ones you already sent me, do you not?” Nicole asked.

  Emily nodded before realising that she needed to speak for Nicole to hear. “Yes, I…yes, I think I have around nine finished plays and twelve that need work.”

  “Well, if they are up to the standard that I’ve seen from you so far, then I’m sure we can sell more of them. If you’re interested, I’m sure we could get you some editing work too, if you’re up for it?” Nicole asked.

  “I…yes, yes, that sounds great. I’d started looking for jobs, but the market is pretty dead here.”

  “As I said, we could get more for that script, but it’s an offer on the table and you may want to take it,” Nicole said. “I said I’d get back to Daniel next week, so have a think about it and speak to your financial adviser.”

  Emily frowned. “I don’t—”

  “I meant Olivia, darling,” Nicole reminded her with a chuckle.

  “Oh, oh yes!”

  “Emily,” Nicole said, her tone suddenly serious.

  “Yes?” Emily asked nervously.

  “I’m saying this as a friend, and as your newly appointed manager,” Nicole said. “You are an extraordinary writer; your plots are tremendous. You have an understanding of the human psyche that most writers would kill for. That, coupled with your comic timing, your ability to weave an intricate tale, well
, you’re very talented. I just need you to know that.”

  Emily leaned heavily against the wardrobe with a disbelieving smile and shaky hands. Emily had never had anyone tell her that she was good at anything before. Her foster families had never encouraged any talent, and she wasn’t used to receiving praise.

  “Thank you,” she gushed. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “I mean every word. Now, I better let you go. Your rewrite means you’ve given yourself extra work, and you’ll need every second if you’re going to hit the deadline. I really wish I could give you more time, but you know how it is.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get it done,” Emily promised.

  They said their farewells, and Emily hung up the phone. She lowered it to the floor and stared ahead in shock. Writing had been a way to pass time, an escape from the real world, and a way to have some form of control, even if it was essentially over made-up scenarios. She’d never expected it to amount to anything. She’d never expected anyone to even read her scripts, never mind want to buy them.

  She couldn’t decide if she was more blown away by the fact that people liked her writing or by the amount of earning potential she now seemed to have. Her mind raced at thoughts of being able to sell her scripts and live off the proceeds, even to save up money and pay Olivia back. She could realistically envision a future in which she could spend her time at home, writing—a time when she could be with Henry all day, every day. A life in which she could afford to take him out and have fun.

  Emily put her hand over her phone and paused as she realised her instinct was to text Olivia and tell her the news. Her hand had moved without her even considering the action, like muscle memory. She stared at the phone and smiled.

  In her hopeful visions of the future, of course there was Henry, happily running from room to room, playing while she worked—but Olivia was also there. In each and every scene Emily imagined, she saw Olivia with her. The three of them together; a family.

  Emily picked up the phone and sent a quick text to Olivia before pulling herself up and sitting on the bed again. She pulled the laptop onto her lap, cracked her fingers, and started to type.

  CHAPTER 39

  Olivia heard a text arrive, and picked up the phone up to read, I love you, so very much.

  With a wide smile, Olivia typed back a quick reply: and I you.

  “What are you looking at?” Henry asked. He stood up from where he’d been leaning on the coffee table, colouring in the outlines of giraffes that Olivia had now mastered.

  Olivia angled the phone to show him. “Your mother texted me.”

  Henry looked at the screen and slowly sounded out the words with Olivia’s assistance.

  “She loves me.” Henry gave her a toothy grin and sat back down.

  Olivia briefly considered telling the boy that the statement was meant for her, but she quickly decided against it.

  “What do you want to do tomorrow, Henry?” Olivia asked. “We have all of Saturday to fill.”

  “Park?” Henry asked excitedly as his eyes drifted to the giraffe scooter she’d given him. He’d attempted to use it several times in the suite, but Olivia had feared him barrelling into something unforgiving and told him that it was only for use outside.

  “Okay. The park sounds fun.” Olivia smiled. “How about a movie too?”

  Henry looked up at the television with a half-hearted shrug. “I suppose.”

  “I mean at the cinema,” Olivia clarified. She’d been busily searching online for ways to fill the day with a five-year-old. Many people agreed that the cinema was a good two-to-three-hour rest for adults. That, and she’d seen a trailer for a funny-looking animated movie that she rather liked the look of.

  Henry slowly turned and looked at her, as if he expected her to take it back. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Olivia confirmed. She opened an application on her phone. “There’s a showing at one; I thought we could go after lunch?”

  Henry launched himself at her and held her in a tight embrace, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Thank you, Olivia.”

  Olivia put her arm around him and gently held him. “You’re most welcome, Henry.”

  After a few short moments, Henry released her and took a shaky breath before he returned to his colouring. Olivia watched him for a few minutes while she attempted to analyse his reaction. She considered Emily’s time away from home and financial situation and realised that Henry probably rarely, if ever, was taken to the cinema.

  With insight she hadn’t known she was capable of, she realised that her desire to give Henry everything he could ever dream of could be extremely damaging. Clearly, he had become used to a frugal existence, and being treated was something quite foreign to him. While he enjoyed the idea of the indulgence, he was clearly overcome by it as well.

  Olivia began to understand Emily’s initial concerns, remembering with crystal clarity the gift shop at London Zoo. At the time, she had wanted to buy Henry anything he desired, but now she realised it would’ve been the wrong thing to do.

  Giving Henry a taste of a lifestyle where money wasn’t as big an issue as it was in his current world, and then, potentially, taking it away again would be traumatic, for both Henry and Emily. Suddenly, Olivia found that she understood the responsibility she’d taken on and had a greater respect for it. She wanted to get things right with Henry. She owed him that much.

  “Will we have popcorn?” Henry asked almost timidly, without looking up from his colouring project, his brain clearly whirring at the prospect of the cinema trip.

  “Maybe,” Olivia allowed. “A small bag.”

  Henry smiled and nodded his head in understanding.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Olivia was fed up with being in the suite. It was another revelation when she considered just how long Emily had been stuck indoors while Henry was recovering. She told Henry they’d eat dinner in the hotel restaurant downstairs and left him with the television on while she went to change.

  In her bedroom, she removed her dark blue jeans and replaced them with a pair of smart black trousers. She pulled off the cream sweater, picked a crisp white shirt from a hanger, and put it on. As she was doing up the buttons, Henry burst into the room and she quickly moved to draw the shirt around herself. He stood in front of her with tears in his eyes as he clutched a small blue shirt in his hands.

  “Henry? What’s wrong?” Olivia crouched down, thoughts of modesty gone from her mind at the sight of his tears.

  “I don’t have nice clothes,” he sniffed.

  “What do you mean?” Olivia frowned.

  He backhanded some falling tears from his cheeks. “You’re changing your clothes so you look nice at dinner,” he explained. “I don’t have any nice clothes.”

  He held up the blue shirt and pointed to the ever-present giraffe hoodie he was wearing. “I only have these and my T-shirts.”

  “Oh, Henry. You don’t need to wear smart clothes.” She smiled at him and stroked his cheek affectionately.

  “Then why are you changing your clothes?” Henry frowned with a wobbling lip.

  “I…” Olivia looked down at what she was wearing. “You know, you’re right. I don’t need to get changed. I’ll change back to what I was wearing. Go and watch some more television and I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “You sure?” Henry asked, frowning.

  “I’m sure.” Olivia smiled warmly and stood up. “Off you go.”

  As Henry headed back to the living room, Olivia shook her head at her own foolishness. She removed her white shirt again and pulled on the cream jumper. Next she removed and hung up her black trousers and put her jeans back on. She looked at herself in the mirror with a critical eye. It had been so long since she’d worn casual clothes regularly that these days she felt more comfortable in smart clothes. But it seemed that was also going to have to change if she was going to ensure Henry’s comfort.

  After a quick reapplication
of makeup—because there were some lines that Olivia wouldn’t cross—she and Henry went downstairs. Olivia smiled with pride as she noticed many of the other diners looking at Henry and smiling. Tiny sat on the table, in front of a half-full glass of water and a bread roll on a side plate that the waiter had kindly set up for him. They talked about what they would do the next day, and Henry asked a million and one questions about space, which Olivia either answered from her own knowledge or consulted Google and then explained to him.

  At one point, Henry looked at Tiny and started talking to the toy in some incomprehensible language.

  “What are you saying?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m speaking Chinese,” Henry replied.

  Olivia speared a piece of pasta and slowly chewed it as Henry continued to talk to Tiny.

  “It doesn’t sound like Chinese. Why are you speaking Chinese anyway?”

  “Tiny is from China.”

  “Giraffes are from Africa,” Olivia argued.

  Henry picked up Tiny, turned him over, and thrust his bottom into Olivia’s face. He pointed to a white tag. “Tiny is from China.”

  “Oh, I see.” Olivia nodded.

  Henry put Tiny back on the table, somehow managing to put his other hand into a pile of uneaten tomato ketchup on his plate.

  “Oops.” He held his hand up for her to see.

  She picked up her napkin in one hand, held his hand in place with the other, and gently wiped at the red mess.

  It turned out that wasn’t the only mess Henry had managed to get himself into over the course of the day. When they returned to the suite, Olivia realised that there was pen ink and food all over him, including in his hair. Luckily, Henry was happy about the prospect of taking a bath; he had brought his toy boats with him and was eager to show them to her.

  Olivia entered the bathroom to find Henry standing on his suitcase to reach the sink, where he was currently brushing his teeth with a giraffe-handled toothbrush.

  Henry spat into the sink and looked up at Olivia with a wide, toothy grin. He stepped off of his suitcase, handed her the mucky toothbrush, and started to pull his trousers down. Olivia quickly averted her eyes and washed her hands and the toothbrush under the tap. Then she put the cap back on the toothpaste and rinsed what looked like half a tube of the stuff from around the sink.