‘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.