A Twist of Fate

by Demelza Hart

  ‘Wow, fame indeed.’ Anna smiled but her eyes remained fixed on me, as if trying to see behind my jovial banter. I wasn’t fooling her at all. ‘Watch out. Jack Northam may be one of the lads, but he’s a very skilled interviewer.’

  ‘We’re on with a movie star – Tom Yearsley.’

  ‘Lucky you. He’s lovely.’ She stretched out the ‘o’ of ‘lovely’ and widened her eyes. I hoped she’d moved on from pondering my relationship with Paul. ‘I’ll be off now. I’ll watch your show.’

  ‘It’s filmed tomorrow and broadcast on Friday.’

  ‘Good luck. Say hello to Paul for me.’ At that point, she glanced back at me.

  ‘Will do,’ I said, moving ahead of her to open the door. When we reached it she smiled genuinely and reached out to put a hand on my arm.

  ‘You’re doing brilliantly, Callie. But it’s a long process. Be careful.’

  ‘I’m always careful.’

  ‘Bye bye.’ Anna leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was struck by a sudden outpouring of affection and care. My mother, Anna – was I not capable of looking after myself? Was there a reason people were so concerned? It was fair enough to have worries about the after-effects of the crash, but I felt it was more than that, as if they doubted my judgement, like they didn’t want to let go of me as I couldn’t be trusted in the world alone.

  Anna left at last and I shut the door, breathing out in relief. She was the sort of person whom you knew you should like, who was genuinely caring, but who somehow annoyed you at the same time. Maybe it was the knowledge that you weren’t actually perfect, and the fact that through her own goodness she made you acutely aware of it.

  With Paul, my imperfections didn’t matter. With Paul, I rejoiced in them.

  Tonight would be lonely. As the day wore on, I sauntered to Tesco Express and restocked the fridge. I had various texts from Rupert, which I replied to carefully and politely, putting him off by saying I was busy and weary. Paul phoned again later. He sounded tired; it had been a tedious day, I could tell. We’d see each other tomorrow at the studio. It was better if we arrived separately, not to arouse suspicion. His voice lulled me to sleep. I only just managed to end the call before I nodded off.

  Twenty

  The next day a car from the studio arrived to pick me up. The driver was chirpy and chatty, wanting to know the usual – what I ate on the island, what I could remember of the actual crash (surprisingly little, I realised. It seemed much longer ago than it was), if I was looking forward to the show.

  When I arrived I was taken through to meet Jack Northam and have a brief rundown of the sort of things he’d ask. Paul was already there. He stood up with a smile when I entered. How should I greet him? A kiss on the cheek would be considered normal, wouldn’t it? Or just a hello? Luckily, the bustle around Jack distracted us all. I think we just smiled at each other. There was no sign of Tom Yearsley, but the excitement amongst the crew was palpable. We were clearly just the filler.

  ‘Guys, thanks so much for coming on!’ beamed Jack, shaking us firmly by the hands. He was open and encouraging but I sensed the effort he had to put into it. In person, he was more manicured and groomed than he seemed on TV. It sat at odds with his laddish persona. ‘So … I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry. We’ll get you on before Tom and just ask much the usual, you know – what you remember, how you got to the island, what it was like, shelter, food. We’ll have a rehearsal of getting you on and the first few questions, but we don’t go through them all as it loses the spontaneity.’

  ‘Do we stay on when Tom Yearsley’s on?’ asked Paul, hands in pockets.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ nodded Jack. ‘Yeah, you stay and keep up the banter. Helps to keep it all natural. He’ll be along later, just before we shoot. Busy guy.’

  ‘I think I’ll be dumbstruck in front of him,’ I laughed, more for something to say than anything.

  ‘Callie, no worries,’ smiled Jack then pushed us abruptly towards some of the crew. ‘You guys look great but let’s get you into make-up and we can get started with your segment. The audience are nearly set for their warm-up. I’ll see you soon.’ He smiled, promptly turned his back and left.

  I was left with Paul. ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he replied, hands still in pockets and a slight smile on his face. I felt like a fish out of water. A hug would have been glorious right then.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ I asked, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

  ‘Necessary. Useful. Long.’

  ‘Do you think this’ll be all right?’

  ‘Yeah … why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘What if we say something silly?’

  ‘We won’t.’

  A woman who barely reached my shoulders hurried up beside me, her hair piled high on her head, clutching a clipboard and with an earpiece attached like an alien insect to the side of her face. ‘Hi, I’m Laura, production assistant. I’ll be looking after you. Come through to make-up. Not that you need it, Mr Mason. I could cut myself on that jawline!’ She laughed, staring into Paul as she said it and putting a hand on his arm to guide him through. I clenched my jaw. Why did every woman who met him start flirting with him instantly?

  We were seated in chairs next to each other, but I may as well have been in another room from Paul. My make-up artist was a miserable girl whose facial expression didn’t shift at all during the twenty minutes or so I was sitting there. She only spoke to me if asking me to be quiet or to open or close my eyes but otherwise kept up a vapid conversation with the others. Paul sat beside me, not that I knew it. He had four women buzzing around him. What the hell were they doing? They were yabbering on about everything and nothing, lavishing compliments on him. He barely responded, but they annoyed me nonetheless.

  There came a sudden surge of energy from out in the corridor. Voices grew louder and brighter, there was exaggerated laughter. The make-up artists looked at each other, murmured, ‘He’s here’, promptly dropped their brushes, and disappeared out of the door.

  ‘Oh,’ I said flatly, staring at my one completed set of lashes. ‘Sorry to keep you.’

  Paul chuckled. ‘S’pose that means luvvie’s arrived.’

  ‘He’s called Tom. Don’t forget. You’ll have to at least pretend to like him.’

  ‘I don’t dislike him. I’ve seen him on stage. I just don’t know him … and I’m not going to fawn over him, I’ll tell you that.’

  ‘You’d disappoint me if you did.’ I smiled across at him. They’d done something rather wonderful to his hair and tidied up his eyebrows. He looked stunning. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. And I was still smiling.

  ‘What you staring at?’ he asked.

  ‘You. You look lovely.’

  ‘Lovely, eh? I’m going up in your estimation. Must be doin’ something right.’

  I bit my lip, not that I was aware. ‘I can’t stop thinking about …’

  ‘’Bout what?’

  I gave a little laugh in embarrassment. ‘You know … What we decided last time. What we said we’d do.’

  ‘Oh aye.’ He smirked. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I’m quite nervous, but that makes it all the more exciting.’

  ‘I could tell you not to be nervous, but I don’t want to spoil your fun.’

  ‘Seriously though, Paul, I never thought I’d let anyone do it to me.’

  He softened his grin and I could have melted towards him. ‘Don’t do it because you’re letting me, do it because you let yourself.’

  I started to reach out my hand to him but at that moment a few of the make-up people came in again.

  ‘How come she gets to do it? I normally get the A-listers! Fucking cheek!’ One of them – the one who’d been with me – was on a rant.

  ‘Come on, Hayley, give her a chance. She did a great job on Schwarzenegger the other week. Took years off him. She’s in demand.’

  ‘Tom Yearsley doesn’t need years taking off him! He’s only thirty-one!
’

  Paul winked at me. The moaning one came back to me and started prodding my face with sponges as if I was a wall she was mottling. ‘Screw her. I’m off to ITV if this carries on. And I am definitely doing Jamie Dornan next time.’

  ‘Look, babe, who needs Tom Yearsley? We’ve got Paul Mason.’ A pretty girl with long legs placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned over him, smiling seductively at his reflection in the mirror. ‘I must admit, Mr Mason. I’d rather have you than Tom Yearsley any day. Bet he couldn’t survive two seconds on a desert island.’ Giggling ensued and the gaggle of them surrounded Paul in a haze of perfume and hair products. I still only had mascara on one eye.

  The door opened again and Jack Northam appeared around it. ‘Ready, guys? I’ll see you on the floor in two minutes.’

  ‘Shit,’ murmured misery guts. ‘Better get on with it.’

  My mascara was finally balanced up and the rest of me sorted. I looked at my reflection and couldn’t help a little smile. ‘Thank you,’ I said. Even I thought I looked the part. I glanced at Paul. He was looking across at me softly. It made me blush.

  Laura came in. ‘OK, you two, this way. We’re going to take you through your entrances. How do you want to walk on? You’re seen as a pair, so maybe hold hands?’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Paul. I could detect the annoyance in his voice.

  She smiled. ‘Well, I mean I know you’re not together like that, but you survived together, you’re close … that’s what we want to convey. Maybe just put a hand on her elbow and guide her.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I added quickly, making a deliberate attempt to step away from Paul.

  ‘No. He’ll hold you by the elbow. That’ll work.’ Her tone left no room for argument. I looked at Paul, who raised his eyebrows in resignation. ‘We’ll tell you when to go on. You walk out, not fast, take your time. Put up a hand to wave to the audience, nothing too cheesy or royal, then go and sit next to each other on the sofa. We’ll run through that now, OK?’

  I nodded, nerves suddenly taking hold, even though it was only a rehearsal. This was a show watched by an average of six million people. I wanted Paul’s hand on me now.

  I could hear Jack Northam’s voice from the other side of a partition. It was a flimsy thing made of plywood and held up with struts and stage weights. The other side must be the studio set, which always looked impressive and solid on my screen. The deceit of television struck home. Paul put his hand on my elbow. I wanted more. Laura held up five splayed fingers and started counting them down, mouthing the words to us, ‘Five, four, three, two, one, go.’ She beckoned us around the corner. The lights almost blinded me but I smiled and waved. The audience cheered.

  Jack told us exactly where to sit, checked with the cameraman that it was OK, then asked us a few easy questions about how hot it was on the island and what it was like being back in the UK.

  ‘OK, that’s about it for now. It’ll be more of the same when we go for it. We may have to shoot some things a couple of times just to get everything perfect, but we’ll try not to keep you.’

  A buzzer sounded and the producer called, ‘Ten minute break, everyone.’ The audience began to leave their seats and we were left with Jack. He turned to look at his script, ignoring us. Paul and I glanced at each other and got up to head out. As we did I bumped into someone coming our way. ‘Oh, sorry!’ I muttered and looked up into the unmistakable face of Tom Yearsley.

  The actor smiled broadly, openly holding my stare. ‘No, I’m sorry. I should have looked where I was going.’ He swept a hand through his dark blond hair. Just like Rupert. I was momentarily star-struck. He held out a hand. ‘I’m Tom.’

  ‘Callie.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, the girl from the plane.’ Shit, he sounded like Rupert too. ‘Unbelievable, what happened. I have so much respect for you.’

  I laughed nervously. He was still looking at me and holding my hand. It was all rather flattering. I remembered Paul and turned to him. ‘This is Paul. He was with me on the island.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Hi, dude. Amazing.’

  The word “dude” sounded strange from this effortlessly privileged man with his rounded vowels. It made me more nervous. Paul shook his hand and muttered, ‘Cheers.’ Tom immediately turned back to me.

  ‘You’re on first, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘You done this before?’

  ‘We had an interview on Breakfast Time Britain the other day.’ I looked to Paul for some communion. He had his head down.

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m sorry I missed that, but I caught some of your press conference. You handled it really well.’

  The production assistant crept forward. ‘Mr Yearsley, sorry. I think Jack’s ready for you now.’

  ‘Of course, I’m so sorry. I’m just on my way, Laura.’ He smiled at her and she melted back with a breathy laugh. His exaggerated sincerity was blatantly fake but still appealing. He didn’t move. I was beginning not to know where to look.

  ‘I have to go, but I’ll catch up in a minute, Callie. I’d love to hear about your experiences.’ He was still smiling. ‘And yours, Paul,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘You’ll hear in the interview,’ said Paul. His hands were deep in his pockets and his jaw was clenched.

  Tom ignored him. ‘It’s great to meet you. See you in a minute.’

  I nodded and smoothed back my hair. Tom smiled again, like in a toothpaste advert, and turned onto the floor of the studio.

  ‘What the fuck was that about?’ said Paul, his voice tight.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what. He could barely keep his dick in his pants.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. He was just being polite. It’s refreshing to find a Hollywood star who’s down to earth.’

  Paul sniffed derisively. I wanted to step in and curl my arms around his slender, hard waist, pull him into me, and work myself against his groin until I felt his cock stirring for me. But there were too many people around. I smiled up instead and whispered, ‘I like it when you get possessive.’

  He flicked his hooded eyes to mine and relaxed. ‘Just want tonight to come, Callie.’

  ‘Me too. This is torture, being here and not being able to touch you.’

  He let out one of his rumbling groans of frustration and my stomach flipped.

  ‘Do you guys want to come with me? I’ll take you to the green room. We’re not rolling for about half an hour yet but you can hang out there and there’s plenty of food and drink.’ Laura’s abrasive tones brought us back with force.

  We darted our heads round. I could feel my eyes widen with guilty discovery, but Laura was staring at her clipboard, pre-occupied. She smiled tersely then turned for us to follow.

  We were led into a waiting area with sofas, soft drinks, and bowls of fruit. Photographs of Jack with past guests adorned the walls – Tom Cruise, Scarlett Johansson, Hugh Jackman, Keira Knightley. The nerves jangled and I sat quickly, tucking my hands into my lap. Paul slumped back, legs apart, arms outstretched on the back of the sofa.

  ‘Aren’t you nervous?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘No. I don’t get nervous over things like this. It’s not exactly life and death, is it?’

  I recalled his calm manner as the plane began to shake. Even that hadn’t fazed him. I drew strength from it. My leg jiggled. ‘I’d better go to the loo.’ I stood up and headed out.

  After coming out of the loos, I must have taken a wrong turn. I was in a labyrinth of corridors with no obvious way back to where I should be. I turned a corner and met Tom Yearsley coming the other way, nearly bumping into him again.

  ‘Hello,’ he laughed. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’

  I smiled up. He really was incredibly handsome.

  ‘I think I’ve got a bit lost,’ I confessed.

  ‘It’s crazy back here. You need to go that way.’ He pointed behind me. ‘I just popped out for a quick fag.
Old habits die hard.’ He grinned. Even more like Rupert.

  ‘I can’t sit still,’ I said. ‘Bit nervous. I suppose you’re used to this sort of thing?’

  ‘I’ve done a few, but the adrenaline still kicks in. It’s like going on stage, but not nearly as terrifying. At least here I know the audience is on my side.’

  ‘Paul said he saw your Hamlet.’

  ‘Did he?’ His eyebrows rose up in genuine surprise. ‘Wow, I wouldn’t have thought that was his thing.’

  I felt a stab of annoyance at his presumption. ‘He’s an interesting guy. He was surprised that someone who went to Eton would be doing so well in Hollywood, I guess.’

  ‘We don’t all spend our time eating cucumber sandwiches and riding to hounds, you know,’ he teased.

  I laughed. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I went to private school too, not like Eton, but … I’ll shut up.’ I hung my head, embarrassed. He had a way of smoothing over any hint of criticism.

  ‘Which school?’

  ‘Farley Court, near Cobham.’

  Tom’s face lit up. ‘Oh yeah, I know it. My best friend from RADA went there – Sasha Mosley.’

  ‘Sasha? Yeah. She was Head Girl a few years before me.’

  ‘Head Girl? Christ. She never mentioned that. Bloody hell.’ He looked down at his feet.

  ‘What?’

  He sighed. ‘Sasha’s had a tough time of it. She struggled to get a break and got into a bad way, prescription drugs then … the rest. She’s getting there though, she’s in rehab at the moment.’

  I frowned in dismayed bewilderment. ‘Shit. She was always so immaculate.’

  ‘She put a lot of pressure on herself. And so did others.’ He looked pensively along the hall. ‘You never know what’s going on inside.’

  ‘No. Poor Sasha. I just remember this bright, bubbly character from my school days, so full of life.’

  Tom smiled it away and changed the subject. ‘I guess you’ve had a mad time since you got back?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been … fun.’ I laughed awkwardly.

  ‘It is at first, but then, when you realise your life’s not your own anymore …’