Our Story

by Miranda Dickinson

But by the end of the day, there’s still no sign of him. No answer to my messages, all calls reaching the same voicemail message.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Joe says when we’re driving home.

  But I am worried.

  Since we started seeing each other, Fraser has been the one who texts, the one who calls first. He was like an excited puppy and I’ll admit that it was overwhelming in the beginning. But I think that’s another outward sign of his confidence in us. And it’s only now, in the absence of it, that I realise how much a part of my every day that’s become.

  And so the mind games begin.

  He’ll call at 6 p.m. when he knows I’m home.

  6 p.m.: no call.

  He tends to work late if he’s at home. I’ll text while he’s working.

  Number of texts sent: 4. Number received: 0.

  He’ll be in bed by 10 p.m., 11 p.m. at the latest. He’ll call me then.

  No call. No text. No change in the message when I call instead.

  I carry my phone around with me, a poor excuse for a talisman, convinced that if I set it down for even a minute, I’ll miss Fraser’s call. But I’m starting to panic.

  ‘Otty, sit down.’ Joe is watching me from the sofa, my unplanned floorshow apparently amusing him.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet if you carry on.’

  ‘I’m okay, just let me be.’

  ‘He’ll be in bed now. If we did happen to poison him yesterday he’s probably only just stopped barfing.’

  ‘Joe. You’re not helping.’

  Joe’s sigh meets the creak of the sofa frame as he stands. ‘And you need to come with me.’ He meets me mid-pace and firmly but gently leads me to one of the armchairs. Reluctantly, I sit. Joe crouches down in front of me, so that his face is at my eye level.

  ‘Stop worrying. Fraser is big enough and ugly enough – okay not even remotely ugly, the lucky git – to take care of himself. As soon as he’s better, he’ll call.’

  But he doesn’t.

  By 11 a.m. next day it’s all I can think about. It’s just so unlike him. I need to focus on the scripts we’re all developing and this is threatening to steal my focus completely. It’s time to bite the bullet.

  While my colleagues buzz around the coffee machine I slip past them and head for Russell’s office.

  ‘Yes?’

  I peer around the door. ‘Hi. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course! Come in. Take a seat and a load off. It’s going well in there, Otty. You and Joe should be proud.’

  I sit in the chair nearest the desk. ‘Thanks, we are.’

  ‘Good. Now, what’s up?’

  ‘Do you know where Fraser is?’

  There’s a pause before he answers. Pauses are never good.

  ‘He has a project we’ve been talking about for a while. He asked me if he could take a couple of days to work on it. I figured you and Joe are handling everything with the team so I agreed.’

  ‘Is that why he’s not answering his phone?’

  ‘I would hazard a guess.’

  ‘Is he at home?’

  ‘To the best of my knowledge.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you.’ I start to stand.

  ‘Try not to worry,’ Russell says. ‘I’ve known Fraser for a long time. He sometimes needs his own space.’

  It’s meant to reassure me, but it has the opposite effect.

  I return to the writers’ room and we begin the process of plotting out each episode, discussing the best way to tell the story Joe, Russell, Fraser and I have devised. Everyone is upbeat today, but I’m adrift in their midst. By the time we leave at 6 p.m., I’ve made up my mind.

  If he won’t answer my calls and texts, I’m going to see him.

  ‘Otts, some of us are heading to the pub,’ Rona says as I’m on my way out. ‘Russell’s coming too. You up for it?’

  ‘Sorry, I have to be somewhere.’

  Rona frowns. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Family stuff,’ I say because nobody is likely to question that, least of all Rona, who jokes about her chaotic family all the time.

  She grimaces. ‘Well, if you require beer afterwards just give us a call.’

  Pulling up outside Fraser’s apartment building it’s a relief to see his car parked in its usual space. It’s a clear night, and already the late-November temperature is dropping. My fingers sting with cold when I press the button for his apartment. It rings three times – my heart contracting with each one. If he’s here and still doesn’t answer, what does that mean?

  Finally, after the fifth ring, there’s a click and a haze of static. ‘Otty.’

  ‘Let me in.’

  I’m past asking politely.

  The buzzer sounds and I yank open the door, hurrying inside. The lift takes an age to reach his floor. When the doors open an empty hall waits. No warm embrace to pull me in, no hasty kisses to greet me. His front door is open, but the absence of him hits me like a blast of cold air.

  When I go in, Fraser is sitting in his armchair, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the spread of darkened city. His elbows rest on his knees, chin on his folded hands as if he’s keeping words prisoner behind his fingers. Slowly, his eyes move to me. In the half-light they look dark, endless.

  ‘I’ve been worried about you.’

  He stares back.

  ‘Russell said you were working on something.’

  A slow blink.

  Fear and irritation spike my chest. ‘Did you get my texts? Or my messages?’

  His eyes flicker at that. But he still doesn’t speak.

  ‘Okay, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘You tell me.’ I’ve never heard his voice sound like that. Low, heavy with insinuation. Alien.

  I am tired and scared and I’ve had twenty-four hours of worry. That is not an acceptable answer and I am more than ready for a fight, if that’s what he wants.

  ‘Talk to me. What’s going on?’

  ‘When were you planning on letting me know that you slept with your housemate?’

  All of the air sucks out of the room.

  ‘What?’ I can’t hide the guilt in my whisper.

  ‘Honesty. That’s what I thought you were all about. That’s what made me want to be with you. Turns out you are as much of a liar as anyone.’

  ‘I didn’t lie.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me the truth. It’s the same thing.’

  ‘You never asked me…’

  He straightens and I sense the storm building. ‘You never told me.’

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. How does he know? Who told him? This isn’t my fault and suddenly I’m angry. I’m angry and scared and not about to let him talk to me like that because I have done nothing wrong. ‘And you haven’t told me everyone you’ve slept with before you met me. Because that’s not what people do when they’re just starting out.’

  ‘Joe Carver isn’t ancient history, Otty. He’s very much in your life. His bed is a wall away from yours.’

  ‘What are you saying? That I’m shagging Joe behind your back?’

  ‘I don’t know. Are you?’

  There is no coming back from that. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  ‘It’s what Joe thinks of you.’

  ‘What?’

  Fraser stands and walks towards me. I can’t move.

  ‘Joe told me you were in his bed. He seemed to think it could happen again.’

  ‘When did he say that?’

  ‘At the party. I have to admit, it made a lot of sense. You’re always with him, locked in your closed little world, all the in-jokes and laughter. You see me but then you scurry home to him. At work, at home. Must be hard to resist when it’s so close, all of the time.’

  Hot tears sting my eyes. How dare he say that? And how dare Joe?

  ‘All I have ever been is be honest with you. And not that what I did before I met you is any o
f your business, but what happened with Joe was a mistake I made, before I even knew you existed.’

  ‘So it’s happened before?’

  ‘No. No, Fraser. If you knew me at all, you would know that. But clearly, you’ve made up your mind. So I guess we’re done.’

  He falters a little, but I don’t want to see it. He can’t chuck all of that at me and then retreat.

  ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  I want to go, but he needs to know how wrong he is.

  ‘We got drunk. I’d had an enormous row with my family and I needed to kick back. It wasn’t planned. I don’t remember it. It was one bloody mistake and it happened before I knew you.’ My tears are falling freely now. Fraser needs to see them. ‘And for the record, I wanted to see you to let you know that I’m all in with us. That I believe in you.’ My voice falters but I’m not done. ‘I thought you saw me for who I really am. More fool me, eh?’

  His shoulders sag a little. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know what to think anymore.’

  Slam the door. Walk away.

  ‘Then that’s my answer.’

  I hold his gaze for one last moment, haunted ghosts of regret, pain and hurt all staring out at me as our world collapses around us.

  And then I leave.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  JOE

  I am buzzing.

  Even now I’m home, an hour after hearing the news, I can’t believe it. It’s beyond what any of us expected. And Russ just casually lobbed it into the middle of the conversation in the pub and sat back to enjoy the explosion, a great smiling northern ninja.

  I just wish Otty had been there to hear it. Rona said she’d gone to see family, but that’s news to me. Last I heard on that score she’d left her dad trying to get his head around her being with Fraser, not me. She should have been there tonight. But at least I get to tell her alone. I still remember the rush of joy I witnessed when I told her about our Eye, Spy episode. This is far beyond that. I can’t wait to see her face.

  I’m upstairs when she gets back, the slam of the front door summoning my attention as I’m dressing after my shower. I chuck on a sweater over my jeans and hurry barefoot down to see her. She is going to be blown away by what I have to tell her.

  Her coat is on the banister, her bag on the floor below, boots nearby. A big pile of Ottiness making our home complete. This place just isn’t the same without her in it.

  ‘Hey, hey, have I got some news for you,’ I say, ducking my head into the living room to find it empty, so jogging along to the kitchen instead. She’s filling the kettle at the sink when I get there, snapping on the lid and flicking the switch. It makes me smile. Otty and tea is a match made in heaven. Even on the days she’s been her most weary after work, the kettle going on is a non-negotiable.

  ‘Oh?’ She’s fiddling with teabags and mugs and doesn’t turn.

  ‘Russ dropped a bombshell when we were out.’ I pause, but when she doesn’t take the bait, I press on. It’s too exciting to wait. ‘Ensign is merging with Tempest Pictures so we’re becoming a full production company. Script to screen, the whole nine yards. And Russ wants us all in on it from the beginning.’

  The kettle splutters into life. I wonder if she heard me because I was pretty sure this was the moment she’d spin round, shriek and jump about like a kid at a trampoline party.

  ‘So we get to see whole projects through… Be part of the whole process? Otts?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great.’

  ‘O-kay… There’s more, though: Russell is asking us all to submit a single-authored spec script. We have six months to write them and he will commission the best as the first Ensign-Tempest project.’ I wait, but still no reaction. ‘It means we’ll be in competition for that, but it’s an awesome opportunity for us. Don’t you think?’

  There’s a click as the kettle boils. Otty pours water into the mugs.

  This is weird.

  ‘I thought you might be a bit more excited,’ I prompt. What is wrong with her?

  ‘I am. It’s great.’

  It clearly isn’t. I skirt the kitchen table and stand beside her, leaning on the worktop to peer up at her. ‘You okay?’

  Her face is set like flint, eyes trained away from me. She isn’t smiling. Did she go and see her dad? Or is she still fretting about Langham being incommunicado?

  ‘Anything I can do?’ I rest my hand on hers.

  Otty looks slowly down, as if she’s never seen my hand before. ‘I just have one question.’

  ‘Ask away,’ I say gently.

  When she lifts her head her eyes are red-rimmed, a stark contrast to the light hazel of her irises. ‘When you told Fraser that we slept together…’ the pause is deliberate, the accusation hanging like a noose, ‘What was that about, exactly?’

  No…

  ‘Was it bravado? Jealousy? A bit of banter between lads?’ Her voice shakes, her stare digging deep as daggers. ‘Did you want to score a point? Or just make me look cheap…?’ The crack in her tone slices my heart.

  ‘I didn’t mean…’

  ‘Oh, I think you did, Joe. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.’

  Panic rises, my pulse slamming hard. ‘No, Otty…’

  ‘Do you hate him so much that you would throw me under a bus to get a win?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Do you hate me?’

  ‘No…’ How can she think that? After everything?

  ‘So, what? You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me? Is that it?’

  I stare at her, my mouth redundant.

  ‘I am lonely, Joe. I am sick of being on my own. Fraser made me feel loved. Wanted. I haven’t felt like that since—’ her gaze shifts from me, ‘I don’t know when. But this – us – it’s all supposed to be a joke, isn’t it? Laugh it off, Otty, make others laugh about it, too. Except Fraser isn’t laughing. I just left him thinking I lied. Thinking I’m cheating on him. When I have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Shit, Otty, I never meant to…’

  Her hand escapes mine. ‘Save it. I don’t want to know.’

  I hate that she’s crying. That I’m the cause. ‘Please, listen to me.’ I reach out, but she backs away.

  ‘I lost him, Joe. You got what you wanted.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Fraser. Put things right.’

  ‘You’ve done enough.’

  She abandons the tea and pushes past me. Panic gives way to real fear, prowling around us both. I see murder in its eyes. I hurry after her, slipping past and blocking her path, my arms out as a barrier between the wall and the stairs. I have to make her hear me. She has to know I made a mistake.

  ‘No. Listen. I don’t know why I said it. He just winds me up and…’ I can see I’m losing her, so I haul it back. ‘I was jealous, okay? He just turns up and wins you and rubs my nose in it… Not that any of that is your fault. Why wouldn’t he want to be with you? You’re amazing. And beautiful. You don’t back down when life kicks you…’

  She shakes her head, her feet impatient to escape, arms a tight shield across her heart.

  ‘Tell me what to do to make this better.’

  She’s so close to me. I could close the distance in a breath. I could…

  ‘I’m done, Joe,’ she says.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Fear chimes in my voice.

  The hazel stare looks through me. ‘I will write with you. I will work with you. But I don’t want to be here with you.’

  I can’t breathe. ‘Don’t leave.’

  She blinks and tears run. My own loom large.

  ‘Please don’t leave me, Otty.’

  She closes her eyes. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  Her body makes a sudden move and meets mine, but not in the way I want. Her shoulder forces into my chest, pushing me back against the wall. I watch her walk up the stairs – not a run, but steady, deliberate steps.

  Above me a door closes. Silence rushes in like a tide. And the house watches m
e as I sink to the floor.

  I’ve lost her, haven’t I?

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  OTTY

  I don’t want to leave. But what choice do I have?

  I haven’t spoken to Joe outside of work for a week. The house mournfully observes our careful dance around one another. If he walks into the room where I am, I leave. I eat my meals in my bedroom. I wait until he’s left in the morning before I go down to the kitchen for breakfast. When we have to write, we work methodically, mechanically, without speaking. Side by side. Worlds apart.

  I hate this.

  At work we force ill-fitting smiles onto our faces and carry on.

  Fraser does the same. To the rest of the world, we’re a united team. Behind the mask, we’re empty shells.

  I have to carry on. I’m not sacrificing my career and all I’ve achieved for anything. Everything I do is powered by a bloody-minded determination to hold my ground.

  But every day another piece of me slowly dies.

  Please don’t leave me, Otty.

  How can you leave someone who’s already pushed you away?

  I’ve lost him, Joe.

  Fraser has the best poker face of us all, a consummate professional at all times. But every now and again, I catch a stolen glance, a moment of regret. I want to reach out to him, make things right. But I have nothing to apologise for. So the stalemate remains.

  At least the second season of Eye, Spy is coming together. One by one the cards on Russell’s board are being marked, the episodes growing scene by scene. Rona and Jake develop an entire subplot with Gus, the whistleblower Laura worked to protect in the first series who she is now romantically involved with, so that right until the final act of the last episode viewers won’t know if he is part of the plot to bring Laura down or her closest ally. It’s brilliant – but the irony of Laura’s plight in the light of mine is not lost on me.

  I think Laura and I would have interesting notes to share.

  I’m reading the latest segment of their story now, sitting in the West One café, under the watchful eye of Rona. She’s squirming a little as I read and I know exactly what she’s going through.

  ‘Relax,’ I say over the top of the pages.

  ‘I am relaxed.’

  I have to smile. ‘You’re not. This is great.’