‘I know. How do we fix this?’
I shake my head, my mouth empty of words. So Joe speaks instead.
‘I don’t want to lose you. Us. We made a mistake. We have to live with it – and each other.’
It’s incredibly bleak, put like that. But he’s right. ‘I don’t want to lose us either.’
I watch Joe as he stares at the ceiling, hands on his hips, like he does when we’ve hit a block in a scene. If only this were as simple as unravelling an unruly section of dialogue…
‘What would Laura and Gus do?’ I say.
Joe’s eyes flick back to me. ‘What?’
‘If this were Laura and Gus from Eye, Spy, not me and you, how would we write them out of it?’ The idea blooms in my mind as I give it voice.
‘Well, Gus would be trying to be practical. Not letting Laura see she was breaking his heart.’
I wince a little. Joe’s words have an edge I’m not sure how to take. ‘Laura would be trying to outrank him. Hiding her own pain until she can tell Dr Montgomery in therapy.’
‘That’s just them marking their positions. It doesn’t solve the problem.’
‘So what would?’
He thinks for a while, leaning against a solitary partition in the vast empty space. ‘They would make it an open joke.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Their enemies would expect them to conceal any involvement. So they joke about it. Openly. No attempt to hide their mistake. Nobody can exploit a secret everyone knows.’
‘They joke about sleeping together?’ Is that what he’s suggesting?
‘What’s the alternative? They’re doing so well – undercover, I mean. They have a good thing going. The joke would unite them, not divide them.’
‘But they’re still hurting…’ I pull back, knowing I’m not talking about our characters now. ‘How can that be something they are okay with?’
He looks at me for a long time. ‘It hurts now. But if they share this, maybe it will get easier.’
I don’t like it at all. It’s bad enough to dismiss what we shared as a mistake, but to invite others to laugh at us? How does that make it any better? ‘So they just tell everyone?’
‘No. I’m not suggesting that. They joke about it between themselves. And then, if it leaks out – if someone else works out what’s going on – they have the perfect cover. Oh that? We just laugh about that now…’ He spreads out his hands like he’s just completed a magic trick. ‘See?’
I don’t know how that protects their hearts. But maybe if they share an approach, it’s a touch point that could unite them. I hate the idea of the joke but I want to find common ground with Joe. ‘Can you do that? Can they?’
‘I think they can.’ He moves a little closer. ‘I think we can.’
That’s it, then. Block removed. Strategy written.
So why does it feel like a lie?
Chapter Thirty-Two
JOE
Hide behind humour. Isn’t that what every self-respecting male protagonist resorts to? So much for being original with my coping strategy.
But, against the odds, it seems to be working.
It’s been two weeks since Otty and I decided on the joke and it’s starting to feel part of our everyday patter. I still sense a hesitancy when it’s about to happen – a brief flash of concern before we leap – but we’re getting better at it.
‘Ugh, put it away,’ Otty says as I lean around her, bare-chested from my morning shower, to steal a slice of toast she’s just buttered. ‘Nobody wants to see that this early in the morning.’
‘Seem to recall you did once,’ I grin, pushing the stab of guilt away.
‘Emphasis on the once,’ Otty retorts, fast as a gunshot. She even risks a swift appraisal of my towel-wrapped waist before she turns back to the breadboard. It’s a strange flirtation and uncomfortably affecting. I see the tension in Otty’s shoulders and turn away. It’s far from easy. But we’re trying.
Russell’s called the writing team in early this morning – and he wants to see Otty and me first. Not sure what to make of that yet. He phoned us at home yesterday evening to invite us, which is definitely out of character for the man who even resents having to send group emails to the team.
‘What do you think it is?’ Otty asks me as we drive into West One’s car park.
I don’t know why she’s asking me. I’m as clueless as anybody. ‘Search me.’
A familiar song starts playing on the radio and my housemate instantly brightens. ‘Hold on, Tom’s here.’
I laugh, but Otty is already singing along to the song, tapping the steering wheel. I’ve heard it before at home, when she’s cooking with the radio on or listening to music as we work. I remember the title as she reaches the chorus: ‘Just You and I’.
‘Lovely song, Tom,’ I say to the radio.
‘We’re going to be okay, Joe. Tom Walker will sort it. This song’s like a talisman for me.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
At the barrier to West One’s car park, she stops singing and looks at me. ‘You don’t think Russell knows? About us?’
‘Not unless he’s bugged our house,’ I laugh. She’s frowning when I look at her. I soften my voice. ‘Hey. Don’t worry. Laura and Gus have it covered.’
It’s lame, but at least I get a smile in return.
I won’t show Otty, but I’m nervous, too. We’ve worked well, our stuff is strong – the strongest in the writers’ room, I’d say – but since that night there’s a stubborn disconnect that all our brave words and hesitant jokes have failed to repair. Has Russell seen it?
We run the gauntlet of West One’s elaborate security systems and make the lift with ten minutes to spare. In it, we stand at opposite sides as it ascends. As far apart as we can be… I shake the thought away. That’s not fair on either of us.
When the floor counter flicks to eleven, I move next to Otty, daring to catch her little finger with mine as our arms hang side by side. She squeezes back. One tiny assurance. Our hands part as the steel doors open and we walk in silence to Ensign’s door.
‘Team O-Joe!’ Russell’s baritone booms as soon as we enter. He’s adopted that name for us from Rona and it’s stuck. You can hear how delighted with himself he is whenever he says it. I guess it’s endearing – even if this morning it does little to ease our nerves. Safe behind matching bright smiles, Otty and I walk into Russell’s office.
‘Sit,’ he commands – and we do, comically in time. On any other day it would be funny. ‘I’m getting breakfast rolls in for us all and some kind of freaky veggie concoction for Rona and Reece.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I’m sure they’ll be over the moon.’
He waits for us to respond, but when neither of us does, he pushes a thermal jug of coffee across his desk to us.
‘Thought we’d get the good stuff in first. Reward for being so bloody early. Go on – help yourselves! I persuaded the ground-floor coffee shop to open at six so they could fill this baby for me. Smart plan, huh?’