“Hello, am I speaking to Alys Morgan?” a broad-accented Scottish woman asked. I confirmed, and she barrelled on. “I’m calling from Masquerade Productions in Cardiff. Are you okay to talk now? We’ve just had a very last-minute commission come through for a Christmas-inspired docu-series. Access has already been arranged, but I’ve got two weeks to film it all. I’ve got your CV in front of me, and something tells me you’re exactly what I need.”
She took a deep breath and silence fell while I scrambled to catch up.
“I’ve never done a factual show as a coordinator.” My brows were pressed so tightly together I was in danger of giving myself a headache.
My father’s eyes widened as the meaning of the call settled on him. Guilt took another swipe at me, but I’d never been good at turning down work. He knew that. He wouldn’t expect me to say no to a job, especially when he didn’t understand freelancing. I’d never missed the irony in a book writer who lived royalty check to royalty check not understanding my job.
“I’m aware, but from what I’ve been told, you’re used to the deep-end situations. Wouldn’t you agree?” she spoke slowly this time, and I was grateful. Combining her strong accent with speed and the unexpected didn’t make a good mix.
“I’ve had to fight a number of fires in my time, yes. But I’ve never delivered an entire docu-series in – how long did you say I’d have?”
“We’ve got two weeks to film it. You won’t need to worry about the delivery. I’ll handle that, and our production assistant will handle the paperwork.”
The pressure in my forehead eased a little at that. Two weeks to film a series was tight, but this was factual – we were talking interviews and no elaborate set builds.
“Do you already have a crew ready to go, and how many episodes do we need?”
“They start prep tomorrow. It’s three one-hour episodes with a chunk of it being filmed outside the UK. Do you think you can do it?” I could almost taste her desperation. For her to be asking me, she must have scraped the barrel of capable factual coordinators. We were five weeks away from Christmas. They were all probably already racing to the finish on Christmas content.
“I can, but I couldn’t start until Wednesday.” A loud burst of air crackled through the line, and I jumped in before she tried to talk me around. “I was done for the year, so I’ve just arrived in West Wales. I’ll need to travel back tomorrow, so the earliest I can start is Wednesday.”
She sighed. “Fine. Wednesday. Do you know where we’re based?”
The edge of desperation eased, and we agreed a rate that was nearly half my drama rate. This was why I didn’t do factual! We hung up, and I wasn’t certain I’d done the right thing, accepting two weeks of stress for half the money and no overtime.
When I placed the phone on the table, my dad was boxing up scones. He didn’t look upset, but despite my reasoning, I never really believed him when he told me to work.
“How long do I have you?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Sorry, Dad. I know I said I’d stay for a bit.”
He held up his hand and forced a smile. “It’s okay, love. You need to work.”
“I’ll need to leave in the morning.”
He nodded. “It’s okay. You’ll be back for Christmas in five weeks, right?”
“Of course. Emily and I wouldn’t miss your party games for anything.”
“Well then, how about some lunch? You can tell me what you and Emily have been up to.”
I laughed as he started preparing more food with a singular focus. That man and his meals! Whenever he made it to Cardiff, he wasn’t interested in sightseeing. It was all about the latest foodie restaurant. He was more in tune with the goings-on in my city than I was. Yet, I couldn’t convince him to move.
Despite appearances, I wasn’t avoiding him. It was this house. I didn’t like coming home. It was too much, too many reminders of the selfish daughter I’d been. If he’d move to Cardiff, I could see him more, feel safer in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in this old place, trapped with the distant memories of the past. I’d keep dreaming that one day he’d agree, and until then, I’d keep making the reluctant trek home when forced.
Chapter Fifteen
Sprawled out on the sofa with a glass of wine, a minty face mask and Adam Garcia on the flatscreen television, I was determined to block out all memory of a certain rock star and enjoy my last evening of freedom for two weeks.
It didn’t last long.
“What the hell are you doing?” Emily screeched when she found me nearly an hour and a half later sobbing into a cushion.
“I don’t know! Coyote Ugly’s never made me cry before.”
My eyes stayed glued to the screen as Piper Perabo’s character watched Adam Garcia’s character show a girl out of his apartment. My heart cracked for her, but my brain screamed for her to do something.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” Emily demanded, the annoyed bite in her voice catching my attention.
Her short hair was puffed out in the messy style only a pixie cut and some hair product could achieve. Dressed in black skinny jeans, a nice red jumper and black heels, she looked ready for a night on the town with her face full of make-up.
“Where are you going?” I asked, still oblivious and very confused by the exasperation she directed at me.
“We’re leaving in five minutes. Why aren’t you ready?”
“Leaving?” I repeated like a befuddled robot.
With an agitated huff, Emily spun on her heel and stormed out of the living room. She didn’t have far to go. Our flat was tiny. A door opened and slammed down the hall. I may have jumped a little. The worst thing about renting flats was they all came equipped with loud, bulky fire doors, perfect for waking you from a dead sleep when your best friend returned home from a late night on the town, or worse, just needed the toilet!
On screen, Piper’s dad refused to let her move home and the waterworks turned on again. Happy tears, but not at all normal for me. Emily was the one who cried at films, not me! But the thought of Piper giving up on her dreams and not getting the guy – oh boy, that wrecked me.
“Geez, you’re a mess today,” Emily scoffed before dumping a pile of heavy fabric on my head. “Get dressed. I’ve delayed the taxi.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, the sound muffled as I struggled to free myself from the material wrapped around my head.
“Did you not get my text?” She waved her new phone at me.
“Nooo?”
“Get dressed! We don’t have time to chatter.” She picked up a top and threw it at me again.
I couldn’t help but chuckle, picking through the pile of clothes she’d thrown my way. “Did you just do a dash and grab in my wardrobe?”
With a pout, she considered the skimpy strap top dangling from my finger. “I thought it would be cute.” She shrugged before clapping her hands. “Get a move on, woman!”
I rolled my eyes and whipped off my simple yet comfortable t-shirt, replacing it with a red long-sleeved skater dress. I shivered at the thought of stepping outside in it. It had been unseasonably warm for November, but the temperature had dropped close to zero today. Why was I even entertaining her?
“What’s eating you? Or do you just have a certain rock star on the brain?”
“I thought we didn’t have time for chatter?”
Emily’s face scrunched up in confused displeasure. I happily laughed at her pain. Before she could loophole her way out, her phone pinged and she jumped.
“Dammit! The taxi’s here. Move, move, move,” she shouted in her scarily accurate drill sergeant tone. She rushed from the living room, letting me drag a pair of black leggings over my thighs in peace.
My bedroom door slammed and I momentarily considered checking on her. But before I could so much as twitch, she was back, forcing my handbag and heeled boots into my arms.
“We’ll have to do your make-up on the way.”
“Where are we
going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Emily’s smile unleashed nervous butterflies in my stomach.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t say I feared Emily. She was my best friend and I loved her. But when she got that feverish look in her eyes, heaven help me. It never boded well.
The first time I saw it, she talked me into skipping school. I fell into a ditch, sprained my ankle, and the local priest caught us. My parents grounded me for a month. Then there was the time she made me bungee jump from a bridge in Austria with five minutes’ warning. Considering I’d passed out after the first bounce, that one had a merciful ending.
I could go on, but you get the picture. She’s dangerous.
If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would have locked myself in the bathroom until she got bored. Instead, I let her hustle me into a taxi and endanger my eyesight by applying mascara in the back of the moving vehicle. Miraculously, she didn’t slip and poke me in the eye. Probably because the resulting tears would have undone her hard work, and we didn’t have make-up wipes to start again; but I chose to believe that she didn’t want to blind me. No sense of self-preservation at all.
When the car stopped up the street from the bright lights of Winter Wonderland, I didn’t know what to think. Why the secrecy? We’d been talking about finally getting our annual visit in for weeks. She knew I’d never say no to a night at the fair.
We walked down the busy street, the weathered white brick of the museum to our left and trees and parked cars to our right. The floodlights hung above the city hall lawn and the current installation of rides that overtook the area every Christmas.
When we reached the entrance to Winter Wonderland, Emily took a firm grip on my hand and rushed off into the crowd with a grin so big she seemed in danger of splitting her lips. She weaved in and out, dodging groups of slow-moving families with a singular focus.
“What’s the hurry?” I shouted, hoping she’d hear my voice over the babble of conversation and Christmas music blaring from speakers.
Emily found an extra burst of speed and headed straight for a kitschy Christmas ornament stall. The place had pulled in a bit of a crowd, and I could just about make out their products as we blazed down a street of similarly outfitted huts. Glittery baubles flashed under the lights. Okay, so they had some pretty things, but there was no need to run across the site for them.
My eyes snagged on a group of guys standing around the side of the stall. With their backs to us they could have been any strangers, but my stomach dropped and my pulse jumped all the same. I was willing to bet pretty baubles weren’t the reason for the mad dash or the secrecy.
I’d been had twice in one week. And thanks to my meddling best friend, I was breathless, sweaty, and my hair was badly windswept. One day she’d realise the flaw in her ambushes.
As we approached, all four of them turned to face us. James and Dan stood together, laughing at my barely concealed shock, I imagine. Jared stepped towards Emily and fused his mouth to hers. But in all honesty, my eyes barely strayed from their frontman, who crossed his arms and waited for my reaction with a coy smile.
The soft glow of the string lights bounced off his face, highlighting the hard angles of his features. He dressed to blend in with the crowd, but it was a pointless attempt. Rhiannon was headed for great things, but I was almost certain the music would only account for 30 percent of their future success. The rest would all be due to Ryan’s magnetism. How else would you explain his effect on my pulse? That expressive face made me wish I could snap my fingers and erase the last couple years of man damage.
My heart picked up speed as he approached. Shoving my hands into my jeans, I forced air into my lungs.
“Miss me?” he said by way of greeting, stopping so close I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, even in three-inch boots.
“I’m definitely surprised.” I side-eyed him, equal parts joking and suspicious.
He held up his hands, his expression rueful. “Did you like the playlist?”
I nodded. “Turns out it was exactly what I needed to get through the drive.”
“I’m glad it helped. Did you learn anything?”
The way he asked the question threw me back to my doubts on the drive to West Wales. I studied his smiling face for clues to his meaning but found none. Did he mean there was a reason behind his choices other than favourite songs?
“Other than the fact you’ve got eclectic tastes and a thing for eighties rock?”
“Yeah, that was a given.”
My eyebrows rose. “How was that a given?”
Ryan frowned. “You listened to the new Rhiannon tracks I put on there, didn’t you?” At my nod, his expression cleared and he continued. “The eighties influence in some of those is pretty obvious.”
“Doesn’t mean I’d know you were an eighties fan before I started listening.”
He chuckled. “Are we honestly arguing over my taste in music?”
My hands landed on my hips, and I stared at him. “No. We’re arguing over your assumption that I’d understand any of it.”
I glanced around at the guys. James and Dan had edged away and were taking out their excessive energy on carnival games. Jared kept staring at Emily, who couldn’t take her hopeful eyes off us. It was both amusing and unnerving.
“Em, can you stop?”
Ryan and Jared laughed at my hissed request.
Her eyes widened and she took a step back, mouthing, “I’m sorry.” Jared took her hand, pulling her towards the rides. “I’ll meet you at home, Alys,” Emily shouted, following him without hesitation.
“Was that Nia?” Dan asked, his voice rising with surprise.
James spun around, searching the surrounding area. “Where?” he asked, almost breathless.
Dan pointed towards a stall selling woollen scarfs at the end of the row. “Down there, I thought.” He was frowning. “I might have been wrong, man.”
James took off into the crowd without so much as a glance at us. Dan and the owner of the carnival game called after him, the owner more pissed than Dan. James had run off with one of the balls. Dan apologised to the owner and raced after his friend.
“What was that about?”
Ryan’s face pulled tight with concern when he met my curious expression. “Nia was James’s girlfriend before we all moved to Glasgow. They haven’t seen each other in a very long time.”
“And evidently James wants to fix that.” I turned my focus back to the row of stalls. I couldn’t see James or Dan over the crowd, and given that they were both tall, I took that to mean they’d left the area.
“Seems so,” Ryan muttered before shaking off the concern. The tension eased and he smiled at me. “Sorry for the subterfuge.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking the picture of a nervous boy. I didn’t believe it for a second. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to spend another night with me.”
“Then why do it?”
“I’m selfish?”
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Look, we’re heading back to Glasgow soon. So, what do you say? Can I monopolise your time for one more night?” He held his hand out.
My heart did a little dance, and just for a second, emotion blinded me from all the glaringly obvious reasons I should say no and run the other way.
A second was enough. I took his hand, and he led me down the next lane of shops, away from the others.
Chapter Sixteen
“Back to the playlist: what did it mean?”
“Why do you think it had a meaning?” Ryan asked, smirking as we weaved through the crowd.
“There was a very particular order to it.”
He nodded. “There was.”
“And?”
“Don’t you like the mystery of wondering?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think I do. I could come up with a hundred and one theories and they’d all be wrong. Just tell me.”
Ryan chuckled. “I ordered it by age. I gre
w up on eighties rock, true, but then I transitioned to alt rock and punk rock.”
“That makes more sense.”
He grinned. “Compared to what?”
“Kind of thought you might have been trying to change my mind with some of your picks.” He bit his lip, mirth shining in his eyes. “Was that your plan the whole time?”
“I had to try something else. Talking to you wasn’t working.”
Knowing I’d been right gave me a small thrill. The extra thought made the gesture sweeter, but a couple of songs weren’t enough to rid me of countless years of damage. I wasn’t sure anyone but I could do that.
The screams and laughter from people being thrown into the air by a nearby slingshot echoed above the chatter of those browsing at the vendors housed in gingerbread-like huts behind us. Air fogged in front of our faces, and no amount of layering could keep out the chill tonight.
“So, what do you want to do first?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t mind. Why don’t you choose?”
As we walked through the crowd, I noticed eyes flickering over us then coming back for a second look. I could feel their gazes following us down the path and burning into my back. There seemed to be no logic to when he got noticed. Are we about to be mobbed?
“Do you want to play a game?” Ryan bumped my shoulder, drawing my attention back to him. He was completely oblivious to the stares following us.
We’d stopped in the short queue for the Ferris Wheel, and my stomach plummeted. If Ryan noticed the tension creeping through my body, he didn’t comment on it. A basket rose and someone screamed. My face hurt from forcing a smile. Why the fuck am I in the queue for the Ferris Wheel? I hadn’t been on one since I’d freaked out at the local fair when I was eleven. The barrier broke open – I had a reason to scream.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, my voice free of fear. Small mercies. Fixing my eyes on Ryan, I tried to use him as a distraction. I’m not inching my way towards a death trap. I’m enjoying his company.
Chasing Alys Page 11