Since the end of my last relationship over a year ago – and the fallout I’m still navigating with my family over it – I’ve been determined to get on with my life and date. Each one has been an act of defiance, a statement that the only person allowed to steer that part of my life is me. And Jas has been a perfect person to prove my point. But that’s the problem: I can’t see us going beyond that and I think he wants more. He’s lovely, but he’s not what I want.
I feel rotten. I’m not paying attention to what he’s saying because I feel like he said it all the first time.
‘Can I just say something?’ I ask, when he stops talking long enough for me to get a word in.
‘Sure.’ He scoops a spoonful of risotto into his mouth.
‘This is a great restaurant…’
‘I knew you’d like it.’ He chews and it’s suddenly all I can see.
‘And it’s good to see you again, Jas…’
Tiny grains of arborio rice and bits of mushroom stud his teeth when he grins. ‘You too, babe.’
‘And you’re a really lovely guy…’
The rice and the mushroom shards and the teeth vanish behind unsmiling lips. The fully loaded risotto spoon halts midway from the plate to its intended destination.
There’s no going back now…
In the taxi on the way home I allow myself to breathe. I did the right thing. It might be a bit dodgy with Rona for a while, but it would’ve been worse to prolong it. Mostly, I feel relieved. Also, hungry. Next time I want to break up with someone, I’ll wait until after dessert.
Which is why the smell of newly fried chips that greets me in the hall of our house is a heaven-sent perfume from the gods. I follow its golden potatoey aroma into the kitchen, where Joe looks up from the swanky deep fat fryer I didn’t know we had.
‘Hey, Otts. Want some?’
‘I love you. Marry me.’
‘Steady on…’
‘I was talking to the chips.’
‘Phew.’ Joe wipes his brow in mock relief and grins at me as he grabs another potato from the bag on the chopping board.
I sit at the table and shrug off my jacket, feeling the weight of the evening finally leave. It’s good to be home. And I love that he doesn’t ask me what’s happened. We’re just here, waiting for food. Joe chops, I breathe and the chips fry. And though his back faces me, I know he’s smiling, too.
Two weeks after the first scary feedback meeting, we reconvene in the writers’ room at Ensign to find a surprise from Russell. The bubbles may be supermarket Prosecco and the champagne flutes might be plastic, but it’s as huge a treat as the real thing. ‘You lot are awesome,’ Russell says, raising his glass. ‘I’ll be honest, I was nervous about it, but you’ve done Ensign proud.’
He slaps his hand on the large whiteboard that covers almost the entire wall behind him. The schedule of all six episodes now has more squares filled in and signed off than it has empty spaces and we applaud as Russell ceremonially signs off the last square in the pilot episode column.
‘As a reward, you have exactly one hour to enjoy this complimentary alcohol at considerable expense to the company…’
‘Cheers to Aldi’s finest!’ Joe pipes up, eliciting laughter from the room.
Russell’s laugh booms over us all. ‘Only the best for you, Mr Carver. So. One hour off, then back to it.’
We stand and gather in groups around the room, the sense of relief and celebration palpable. I see Joe and Russell walk out together and imagine our employer marching my housemate around the eleventh floor again like Martin Sheen and Rob Lowe in The West Wing. He insists Russell doesn’t see him as any different to the rest of us, but I don’t buy it. Lately they’ve been promenading frequently. Daphne tries to catch Russell’s attention as they leave but he powers past as if she isn’t there. I see her hand fall slowly back to her side. She looks after them and then the moment is gone: her killer smile is back and she’s turned to command a conversation with Rona and the Charlottes.
‘Bloody glad she’s not talking to me.’ Josh/J-Man/Joshy is grinning when I find him at my side. I must stop calling him that. It’s been stuck in my mind since Joe confessed his nickname for his writing partner and if I’m not careful I’ll say it out loud to him.
‘Who?’
‘Daphne. Scares the life out of me. I reckon she eats scriptwriters for breakfast.’
I grin back. ‘Probably. So, Russell’s happy with us.’
Josh raises his Prosecco. ‘Long may it continue.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
We clink glasses – which is more of a clunk than a clink given the plastic. And though the drink is cut-price and in an hour we’ll all be back at the coalface, I let myself luxuriate in the moment. We’ve survived the first test. We’ve created something amazing. I did it.
My mobile buzzes in my pocket. I smile my apology at Josh as I move away to check the message.
And instantly wish I hadn’t.
Hey Otty, how’s life in good old Brum?
I have news. Be good to chat soon. Please.
I still miss you. Chris x
I stab my thumb against the screen to delete the text, looking up in time to see Joe walking back in, a steaming Ensign mug in his hand. I fix my smile back where it had slipped. Joe looks over, pulls a face and lifts his hand to his temple. He hit the beers a little too enthusiastically last night, so the switch from Prosecco to coffee doesn’t surprise me. I manage a smile back but my whole body is shaking now. I thought I’d blocked his number. Why didn’t I block it?
A prickle crosses my shoulders and I shake it off. I’ve left that part of my life behind. All of it. So why do I feel like it’s refusing to leave?
I watch Joe amble over to Josh and repeat his oh look I have coffee and not alcohol routine, beaming a victor’s smile when Josh laughs. I sip my drink; try to swallow the bite of cold dread.
I’m not going to talk to Chris. No going back. Being here is what matters.
Chapter Fourteen
JOE
We never saw it coming.
Russell loved our scenes and passed them all for the next stage of piecing the episodes together. He repeated his belief that we were the best team he’d ever assembled and we all believed him. The writing pairings worked, everyone was happy.
Then we arrived at the following weekly meeting to find empty seats.
Six writers gone. It’s shocking.
At least Russell had the decency to do the firing away from the writers’ room this time, although I don’t imagine it was any less brutal an experience for the people he dispensed with.
It’s scared all of us and now we’re watching our boss like a hawk for any sign of bloodlust as he paces the room.
‘I had a rethink last night,’ he says. ‘And I came to the conclusion we were carrying too much dead wood. The writers we’ve let go weren’t contributing enough, in the right voice. We couldn’t afford to piggyback them. To deliver this series, we need to be leaner, meaner…’
‘Cheaper,’ Daphne mutters next to me.
‘But the good news is that I don’t intend on ditching anyone else. We’re taking no new writers on so you lot are it.’
I glance at my colleagues. Nobody looks particularly comforted by this.
‘For the foreseeable,’ he adds. Because of course he reserves the right to change his mind. It’s no guarantee of safety for us. But at least we’re still here.
My co-writer Josh is one of the casualties; one of the Jakes and both Charlottes are gone, too. Thankfully, Otty’s writing partner Rona is still in the room, her eyes wide as she takes in the news. Otty mouths What the…? to me and I shrug. I had no more warning of this than she did.
It had all been going so well. Only last night Otty and I were saying how settled everything was in the room now the pilot is in the bag. Shows what we knew.
I’m an idiot for relaxing. Russ promised me he wouldn’t cull any more writers after the last lot, but what did that promise mean in the
end? If he’s done it when things are going well, he’ll do it further down the line, especially if we struggle to keep up the pace. To survive, we need to maximise our chances of staying in Russell’s good books.
But losing such a significant number of writers is a blow. Everyone left in the writers’ room feels it. How will we complete the series as fast as Russell wants it with such a small writing team?
If Russell has any such qualms, he doesn’t show it. Already he’s reassigning writers to new pairs like he hasn’t just ripped the original ones to shreds, and he’s halfway through doing it before I realise what’s happening.
I glance up at the whiteboard to the list of writing pairs.
Rona – Jake
Otty – Tom
Joe – Reece
No, that won’t work!
I like Reece, one of the oldest writers in the room, but he’s fallen foul of Russ before and I don’t reckon that makes him a strong candidate for staying. Tom’s great, a real solid writer and the kind who keeps his head down and avoids confrontation. He could be good for Otty. But she blossomed when she wrote with Rona and that was largely down to her pushing herself. Rona could write Tom off the page and she might well do it.
I need to stay. Otty needs to stay. Russell is still obsessed with her as his ‘working-class gem’ – only the other day he took me off on an eleventh-floor walk to ask how she was getting on and rave about the scenes she’d written with Rona. Maybe if he thought the wrong pairing could dampen her passion for the project, he might change his mind.
I was going to call time on our round-the-building conferences, largely because I feel it’s dishonest to Otty. But this is too important to ignore. I’m doing it for her – if she ever finds out I think she’ll understand this.
I wait until Russell’s announced all the pairings then follow him as he strides out of the room.
‘Russ.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t say it, Joe, I know.’
‘No, I think what you’ve done is brave,’ I say, my toes squeaking in my shoes as they curl. I said I’d never brown-nose anyone to get ahead in this business. Some moral bastion I turned out to be. ‘But I do have one suggestion to make the team even stronger.’
He stares at me.
I slap on my most earnest expression.
‘Fine. Let’s walk.’
He’s speedier than normal and I struggle to summon enough breath to speak as we power around the building. I can’t mess this up. There’s too much riding on it.
‘Let me work with Otty.’
‘You? Why?’
‘You saw what she did with Rona. The best writing comes when you have a team firing off one another’s talent. Flint on flint. I can be that with Otty. You put her with someone who doesn’t push hard, she’ll be forced to back off, too.’
‘You think Tom’s a slacker?’
‘No! No – Tom’s great. He’s a safe pair of hands and we need that to give this series weight, dependability. But Otty’s a firebrand. She’ll shine if she has the right tools.’
‘Are you calling yourself a tool, Joe?’
I feel like a tool, scurrying after you like a yelping Yorkie. ‘Maybe I am. Maybe I need a flint to spark off, too.’
Russell stops and I almost career into him. ‘Maybe you do.’
It’s the world’s tiniest opening, but it’s a way in. ‘And you like Otty. You want to protect your authentic voice – you said it yourself, Russ. She’s the one that’ll silence the critics who say all drama is middle-class, middle-aged white-guy-led. She’s my housemate, my workmate… Imagine if she were my partner, too. Writing partner,’ I add quickly, realising how dodgy the previous sentence sounds.
‘My wünderkind and my workhouse apprentice, together at last. Flint on flint. The ultimate meet-cute.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t term it exactly like that…’
‘I like it! Good call, Carver. Let’s go back in.’
So I watch as Russell relays the new plan to the surprised team and shrug my pretend surprise when Otty stares at me. I keep my expression steady, sit up in my chair like everyone else and pray nobody can see the way my heart is hammering inside me or the beads of perspiration peppering my palms.
It’s a huge risk. If it goes wrong, it could cost me everything.
But it’s done. We’re as safe as we can be.
Now all we have to do is make this work.
Chapter Fifteen
OTTY
Something weird is going on.
Joe assures me it’s all good, but I don’t feel good about it.
Sharing a house with him is cool. Working in a team with him is great. But writing with him? That’s a huge step.
And then there’s the enormous fact that Russell just axed a chunk of our team and everyone is carrying on like it never happened. I know it isn’t the first writers’ room cull Joe and a few of the other original writers have seen, but it’s my first and it was horrific. Brutal doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I hang back as they all leave, unable to share the relief they all clearly feel at surviving Russell’s cull. I told Joe I have a headache and I’m heading home, so he’s right in the middle of them, laughing and talking too loud as they head for a bar in town. I don’t feel like celebrating someone else’s misfortune, which is how this feels. I just need a bath, a takeaway and a night in front of the blandest telly I can find.
‘Otty.’
There’s a figure by my car. I jolt as I see him, hood up, shoulders hunched against the chill of the evening.
‘Josh?’
He slips off the hood. He looks terrible. ‘Can we talk?’
My heart sinks. ‘Actually, I was just on my way home…’ I look over to where I last saw Joe, but he’s gone. It’s just Josh and me – and I can’t get to Monty because he’s blocking my way.
‘I just need a minute,’ he says. Hollow eyes bore into mine. ‘Please?’
I know I should go. What can I possibly say to him? I have a job and he doesn’t. It wasn’t my decision but I still feel to blame.
I offer him my hand but Josh bypasses it completely and before I know where I am, I’m in the middle of a too-tight hug that lasts just a little too long. When he eventually breaks it, I step back and he flushes a little.
‘How are you doing?’ It’s the most ridiculous question, but it’s the only one I can think of.
‘Crap,’ he says, sorrowful grey eyes mooning over his ginger beard.
‘What happened?’
‘I got a message to call Russell, and when I did he told me I hadn’t made the cut. No thank you, no good luck for the future. It just came out of nowhere.’
‘We were shocked, too,’ I say, adding, ‘All of us,’ in case he might be thinking otherwise.
‘This just keeps happening, Otty. I don’t know why. This was my last chance. My big break. I don’t know how I’ll pick myself up again.’
‘You will.’ You’ll have to. What choice do you have?
‘I mean, I thought my writing was good…’
‘It was. It is.’
‘Not good enough to impress King Russell though.’
I don’t want to be here. I never volunteered to be the sole Ensign spokesperson. Why didn’t Joe stay a bit longer?
‘Then he’s an idiot. You’re great, Josh. Everyone thought so. Joe said…’
‘Yeah, well, I haven’t heard from Joe, have I? Which says a lot. I’m sorry, Otty, I know you live with him but seriously the guy is a snake.’
I’m so surprised I can’t speak. Instead I stare, goldfish-mouthed, at him.
‘He’s so cosy with Russell all the time. And he’s survived all the other writer culls. You can’t tell me he didn’t know it was coming.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘I think Joe Carver knows exactly what’s going on. I think him and Daphne are in it with Russell and he’s as much a part of the decision process as they are.’
It gets worse. Josh starts to reel off
every bad experience he’s had in writing teams, identifying a Joe Carver in every one. The guy – it’s always a guy, according to Josh – who’s everyone’s friend until it counts. The best mate of the showrunner, the one who’d sell his family to succeed. I heard this from Daphne, but it meant nothing then.
It means nothing now.
Josh is upset. He needs a target and he can’t yell at Russell. All the same, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to doubt Joe, not for a second.
‘I’m so sorry this has happened. There’s something a million times better out there for you. I’m sure of it.’
I don’t feel sure of anything. But Josh seems to take the hint.
‘Cheers.’
‘Take care, Josh.’ I go in for a hug, Josh thinks he’s kissing my cheek and we meet in an awful half-cheek-half-lips collision that sends both of us stepping back in horror. I need to get out of here.
‘Sorry. We can keep in touch, yeah?’
‘Sure,’ I lie because I want to get away.
Josh nods and steps back from Monty. I’ve opened the door and am in the driver’s seat before he can say anything else. But as I’m closing the door, his hand catches it and he leans in.
‘Just be careful, Otty. With Joe? He’s more involved with Russell than you think. You’re too lovely to be sullied by someone like him.’
I’m shaking as I speed away.
I don’t want to believe it. But even driving home, my brain is making connections I don’t want it to. Joe is very close to Russell. Could he have known what was going to happen? They’re always going off for private discussions – were they discussing this?
And even though I think Daphne talks out of her bum most of the time, what she said to me before about Joe refuses to go away. I’m angry that he didn’t do the decent thing and contact Josh himself. No matter how innocent he is of all the other stuff, his silence is damning. And, while I know Joe couldn’t have known Josh would show up at work this evening, I’m furious that Joe’s insensitivity made me feel obliged to hear all this.
By the time I park outside the house, I’m ready for a fight.
‘Oi, love, give us a smile,’ Joe grins as I power into the kitchen.
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