The beard ratio is strong here, too. I smile, remembering Joe’s formula for spotting hipster venues. I dashed out of the house early this morning and yelled goodbye to him, but I don’t think he heard me. He was in his invisible workbox again, at the kitchen table, his forehead furrowed into a deep frown. Come to think of it, he’s been weird since he got back from Ensign yesterday. I saw him go out with Russell in the afternoon; when he returned twenty minutes later he seemed preoccupied and stayed like that all night.
I don’t know if I should be worried or not. I don’t know him well enough to spot the signs yet. At RoadTrail I’d become so used to my colleagues’ emotional landscapes that I could decipher their mood by how they’d parked their cars outside the unit. It takes time, I remind myself, just like anything else. And whatever it is, it’s Joe’s business. I’m not the kind of person to instantly assume I’m responsible for someone else’s mood. If Joe has a problem, it’s his alone.
Besides, I have far more important things to focus on.
It’s amazing to think that people across the world might one day watch actors speaking the words Rona and I are writing today.
Our first assignment is completing a scene where a secret is revealed. In the thriller we’re working on, everyone is leading a double-life except for the central character, Laura Eye, who states at the beginning she has no life of her own beyond her work. This scene is the first glimpse viewers will get that Laura is lying.
Having somebody to spark ideas off creates a pace I haven’t experienced before. And what surprises me most is that apart from our first ten awkward minutes writing together, I feel like Rona’s equal. I never expected that. After four hours’ work, we’ve achieved so much.
We arrange to meet tomorrow in the same place and I leave with a free coffee from her brother Jas and his phone number, which I might just use. Part of the new me. New house, new job, new life. I like that. I walk out of the building on pockets of air and around me the city beams.
I should go straight home, but I want to go into Ensign Media to pick up a spare copy of the series bible. I want to keep one at home that I can annotate as I go. I’m protective about the notes I take, probably because I have written in secret for so long. Everything in the writers’ room is shared: it feels good to have something only I can see.
I’m in the lift to the eleventh floor before I realise I’ve parked, passed through the crazy entry system and navigated the security checks without even thinking. Another sign I’m more at home here now. I smile at my multi-reflections in the glass-lined elevator. Less of a newbie now, Otts.
The doors part and I step out with my head held high. I present my pass with a cavalier flourish to the panel on the wall and push open the door to Ensign’s reception.
Molly looks up from her monitor at the welcome desk. She’s probably not even twenty but she has a swagger like she’s been in charge of reception for ten years. ‘Ottilie, hi. The Eye, Spy team aren’t in today…’
‘It’s okay, I know. I was just after another copy of the series bible?’
‘There’s a stack of them in the writers’ room. Go on in.’
I thank her and head to the room. It’s odd with nobody else here: almost as if it’s lost without the bodies and noise inside it. I spot the stack of papers at the far end of the room and head towards it, my fingers tracing a trail around the edge of the writing table as I go.
‘The team aren’t in today.’
Startled, I turn back to the door. Daphne Davies is standing in the doorway. She isn’t smiling.
‘Hi, I know. I just needed another bible.’
‘Destroy the last one, did you?’ A smile appears but it doesn’t soften her stare.
‘You guessed it. Freak firestorm. Dragons. Usual occupational hazard.’ It wrong-foots her for a second, giving me chance to breathe. I move to the stack of papers and slide one from the top. Fixing my bravest smile, I turn back and walk towards our script co-ordinator.
She steps into my path. ‘So, I heard you’re living with Joe now? Fast work.’
‘It came up at the right time.’
‘I’ll bet.’
This is why I never worked in an office environment before. Why is everything a battle with some people? ‘Anyway, I’d better be getting back.’
‘Of course. Mustn’t keep Mr Carver waiting.’
Okay, that’s it. I am not leaving here with Daphne thinking she has licence to speak to me like that. ‘I’m sorry, was there something you wanted to say?’
She does that mock-astonished look that bitchy characters do in Netflix teen movies. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
I eyeball her. I can see my expression reflected in her expensive eyewear and I wonder if she even sees me. ‘Right. If you’ll excuse me…’
‘Thing is about Joe Carver: he’s a hustler. He likes to play the laid-back lad, all charm and nonchalance. He can make you feel like the only other person in the room. But he’d trample you to get where he wants to be.’
‘Good job he just needs me to help pay his rent then, eh?’
Daphne sighs and holds up her hand. ‘Ottilie, don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting you’re interested in him – although nobody would blame you if you were. He is not without his charms. Just be careful, okay? Because the man has an agenda. And you don’t really know him, do you?’
I’m rattled as I drive home through the building traffic. I don’t want to pay any attention to Daphne, but what she said has raised a question I can’t escape. Dad said it too, didn’t he? What do I know about Joe? I’ve seen how close to Russell he is and I know how focused he is on his work. And he has been weird with me lately. Closed off. Is that how he always is or is he having second thoughts about me moving in?
By the time I park outside the house, I’m a mess.
There’s only one thing for it: I have to talk to Joe.
Chapter Ten
JOE
I read her script. And if I didn’t like her so much already, I would hate her.
The thing is, the more I see Otty at work and spend time with her at home the more I’m convinced she doesn’t realise how good she is. Her dialogue sparkles, the characters as real and rounded as if you’d watched them for years. I know she thinks she’s flying blind, but she’s got this.
Which presents me with a problem.
Two problems, actually.
First, Russell wants to know what I think. I want to be honest with him so he trusts me, and I don’t want to sell Otty short. She’s more than just one of Russell’s boxes ticked for the writing team. Otty deserves to shine for her considerable talent alone, not where she’s come from. But Russell has already noticed her talent: if I tell him how good she really is, will that make him forget me?
And second, it feels wrong to be spying on Otty. If the tables were turned I would hate to discover she’d been spying on me. I’d be furious.
I’m going to have to think about this.
‘Joe.’
I jump and look up from my laptop. Otty is standing in the kitchen doorway. She doesn’t look happy.
‘Hey. Writing session go well?’