Lost for Words

by Andrea Bramhall

  Jac,

  Would love to see the place and the sets. Wow! Yes, please. Just let me know when, and I’ll see you then.

  Really glad you liked the changes. That’s a huge weight off my mind.

  Sasha

  Jac grinned as she fired off a quick response to Sasha and then began to close her computer down. It’s a work meeting, that’s all, she thought over and over. It didn’t seem to be helping too much, though. She couldn’t help but feel excited she’d be seeing Sasha again soon. They were going to spend lots of time working together. And while Jac knew it wasn’t the case, she felt she already knew Sasha pretty well. She’d gotten to know her through her writing. And she couldn’t wait to see how much of what she’d figured out of the woman behind the words was actually true.

  It’s a work meeting. That’s all.

  Chapter 10

  Sasha tapped away at her laptop, then dabbed her index fingers under each eye to wipe away the tears before they fell. She changed one last comma to a full stop, clicked Save, sniffed, and closed the document. Done. The changes Jac wanted to the script were finished. The last of the character treatments were completed, scene descriptions were finalised. As far as Sasha could tell, her job was concluded—until they all got on set, at least, and could see what was or wasn’t working.

  All she had to do now was make sure everything was as easy as possible for her mum while she was out for hours and hours at a time. She ran through the list she’d made of alterations she wanted to make to the house: just a few extra grab rails here and there that would make it easier for Fleur to move around on her own. She’d have to remember to ask Bobbi to give her a hand putting those up next time she spoke to her.

  The wheelchair in the corner caught her eye, and she added more to her list—oil the axel, make sure the tyres were pumped up, and check the brakes. Not that Fleur used the thing all that often, just on occasion, though come to think of it, she’d been using it a fair bit lately. She added another note: check Mum’s stump for blisters, the usual reason she resorted to the chair.

  Sasha twisted her head from side to side, trying to loosen her shoulders, and decided a quick bathroom stop and a cuppa were in order. She tutted when she spotted that the loo roll was empty and grabbed a fresh one to change it, kicking the pedal of the small bin to deposit the old cardboard tube. A flicker of something catching the light drew her attention to the contents inside.

  A thin strip of plastic, about three inches, with what looked like metal or copper at each end, a blue band in the middle, and white chevrons. The tip was stained red. Is that blood, or some sort of reactive agent?

  She bent down and picked the strip out of the almost-empty bin. It looked like a of medical test strip of some sort. She shrugged. She knew that her mother had to give samples when she went for her appointments to test her kidney functions. Probably just had something to do with that.

  Shaking her head, she’d headed into the kitchen to make a brew when she caught sight of Bobbi waving at her from the kitchen window. With a hand to her chest, Sasha opened the back door. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry.” Bobbi closed it behind her and shrugged out of her coat. “When no one answered the front door, I was a bit worried. I thought you might be out, and I wanted to check your mum was okay.”

  “You knocked at the front?”

  “Yup.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “’S okay.”

  “Wait, the gate at the end of the ginnel’s locked. How did you even get around the back?”

  Bobbi held up one arm and showed off a rip in her coat. “Yeah, that gate’s a bitch to climb, but I’ve got skills. Like I said, I would’ve gone, but I was worried about your mum.”

  “Thanks, Bobbi. I really appreciate you looking out for her.” She didn’t mention that she was pretty sure Bobbi and her mum often got high together and so it wasn’t a purely altruistic motive on Bobbi’s part. Still, it was kinda self-interestedly sweet. “Mum’s already gone to bed. She said she was tired tonight. Coffee?”

  Bobbi nodded. “Please. Kinda early for your mum, huh? I mean, it’s only just nine o’clock.”

  “Yeah, but I heard the TV on when I was up there a little while ago, so she’s probably not asleep. She’s been giving me some space to finish the script changes the last few days.” Sasha shrugged. “Plus, she had a couple of brownies after dinner. She was pretty mellow, so she might just be sleeping them off.”

  Bobbi grinned. “Your mum is so freakin’ cool, Sash. There’s a better chance of me Zumba dancing with a great white shark than getting my mother stoned.”

  She had a laugh at the imagery as she made their drinks and put one on the table as Bobbi sat down. Taking a seat, she blew across the top of her drink before she took a sip of the scalding, bitter liquid and sighed with contentment.

  “Haven’t seen you for a few days.” Bobbi’s tone was carefully neutral, but the fact she wouldn’t meet Sasha’s eyes when she said it spoke volumes.

  “I’ve been here, Bobbi. Why didn’t you come around for tea like normal?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb if you were in the middle of something important. You said you had stuff to do.”

  “Bobbi, hon, you’re important to me. Our friendship is the most important thing to me. Just because I’ve got this great new opportunity that doesn’t change. I told you that.”

  Bobbi shrugged half-heartedly.

  “Besides, I just finished them and sent them off to Jac. She’ll let me know if I need to do anything else once she’s had a look, I’m sure. Celebrate with me.”

  Bobbi’s face split into an eager grin. “Cool. So…Friends fest?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Bobbi held up her hand, fist balled, and looked at Sasha expectantly.

  “I’m not some sort of gangsta rapper,” Sasha said and folded her arms. “You can have a high five, but that’s my token gesture to cool.”

  “That’s not even a token towards cool, Sash. Even your mum fist-bumps.”

  “My mum’s cool. I’m not.”

  “Alas ’tis true.” She stood and headed for the front room. “I’ll set up the DVD.”

  “And I’ll get the popcorn.”

  Deep into the third episode, Bobbi and Sasha were sprawled across the sofa, the empty bowl of popcorn between them and fresh mugs of tea in their hands when Bobbi asked, “Are you excited?”

  “About the film stuff?”

  Bobbi nodded.

  “Yeah. I mean I get scared sometimes too. Worried I guess.”

  “About what?”

  “What if no one goes to see it when it’s done? What if I can’t really do this and they’re only making the film because they’re obligated to because of the competition—”

  “They wouldn’t have picked it as the winner if that was the case.”

  “I didn’t say it was logical. You asked what I was scared of.” She shrugged.

  “Is that all?”

  Sasha shrugged again.

  “Come on, Sash. You can tell me.”

  Of course she could, but her worries and concerns were all about her own fears. She knew that. “I guess I’ve always been cautious. And this running after dreams seems so rash and so not me. Yes, it’s exciting. It’s overwhelmingly exciting in so many ways. I want to run through the house screaming and shouting half the time, and then I get this fear that I can’t really do this after all. That it’s some big wind up, and someone’s going to jump out of a cupboard any second and tell me this was one great big elaborate set-up. But the logical side of me knows that’s stupid. I do. But that almost makes it even more difficult to get my head around.”

  “Glass-half-empty kinda girl, hey?”

  Sasha snorted a quick laugh. “I like to think of myself as a realist, not a pessimist. And the rea
lity is that, yes, this script is being made into a film. But that doesn’t mean anything else I’ve written or will write will be. This could be the only thing I ever produce that’s good enough.” She squeezed the mug, hoping to steal some of the warmth from it as her hands seemed to cool around it as she spoke. “This could be two months of excitement that have cost me my job and that’s it. All for nothing, really.”

  “Bloody hell, you are a pessimist. So what if nothing else gets made into a film? This one is. You’ll be able to point to that for the rest of your life and say, ‘See? I fucking did that. I’m that good. Me. Sasha Adams. My name’s right there in the credits.’ Who cares about the Spa when you can have that?”

  “I do. Because the credits of one film won’t feed me for the rest of my life.”

  “You need to learn to live in the moment, Sash,” Bobbi said with a groan.

  Sasha lifted her eyebrows at Bobbi. “Perhaps you need to learn to plan for the future.”

  “Your mum was right.”

  “About what?” Sasha asked, a frown tightening her forehead.

  “She said you’d waste the opportunity.”

  “Waste it? How am I wasting it? I’ve agreed to go and work with the production company to make the film. I’ve sent them other examples of my work to see if anything else is good enough. I’m trying to—”

  “But have you taken a moment to enjoy any part of it?”

  The image of Jac holding her arm outside Velvet danced across the back of her eyelids and she swallowed thickly. She thought of the way her heart raced when Jac had complimented her. The way her palms got a little tacky when she read Jac’s comments on her script, and the little emoticons she used, the little jokes Sasha was beginning to anticipate in Jac’s emails. And for a second she wondered if she was excited about this opportunity for what it was or because of the time it afforded her with Jac. “Of course I have,” she managed to mumble.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “When?”

  When Jac pulled open the door for me and her hand rested at the bottom of my back. “Lots of times.”

  “Be specific.”

  The way Jac’s eyes sparkled when we talked, but mostly when she laughed. Bloody hell, I’ve only met the woman once. Get a grip! “I can’t think off the top of my head.”

  “Then you’ve proven my point, or rather your mum’s point.”

  Sasha flicked her gaze around the room, trying to think of anything she could say that would shut Bobbi up without giving the pair of them more ammunition to give her grief about later. But anything pertaining to Jac would only lead to more grief. Sasha was excited about it all. She truly was. But yes, the cautious part of her was worried too. Wasn’t that natural? And no, if she was honest, she wasn’t worried about her job at Serenity. As everyone had pointed out, she could pick up another job like that tomorrow if she had to. Besides, she had other skills that made her employable. It wasn’t that. It was the thought of failing. The idea that her writing wasn’t good enough to achieve what Jac wanted it to. It was the idea of failing in front of Jac that truly scared her. Of failing Jac. After all, Jac was tying her reputation to Sasha’s in this endeavour. Was her work—was she—really good enough to do this?

  Bobbi was still staring at her, still waiting for an answer Sasha wasn’t sure she could give. When her gaze fell on her laptop, she blurted out, “The writing. I’ve loved every single moment when I’ve been writing. I’ve learnt so much already over the past couple of weeks that I can see how much I’ve grown as a writer.” Perfect.

  “You loved that before.” Bobbi rolled her eyes. “That isn’t new, and while it may constitute growth as a writer, it doesn’t constitute growth as a person.”

  “Whoa. Where’s this all coming from?”

  “I’ve been reading your scripts.”

  Sasha cocked her head to one side.

  “Maybe you should try reading what you write sometime.”

  “You mean my natural pessimism doesn’t taint it all?”

  “Shockingly, no.” She grinned.

  “Good to know.”

  “Look,” Bobbi began, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do; I like my head attached to my shoulders. But if it were me stepping into a whole new world where no one knows me, even if it was just for a little while, I might be tempted to let loose a bit. Maybe try a few things I don’t have the chance to try in everyday life.”

  “Like what, Bobbi?”

  Bobbi cleared her throat. “Like maybe, I don’t know, maybe going out with someone or something.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and Sasha couldn’t help herself. “Are you suggesting I find myself a quick shag?”

  Bobbi’s face flushed, turning her dark skin even darker. “I—no—I didn’t—I’m not…” She rubbed her hand over her face. “I wasn’t meaning it quite so bluntly, but you’re, you know…and you should, you know, if, well, you know, you want to.”

  Sasha almost took pity on her. Almost. “Has my mother been telling you I’m the oldest virgin in Manchester or something?” She had to bite her lip at the horrified look on Bobbi’s face.

  “Wha—no— She never even—and if she had, I wouldn’t believe that. You’re too… you know, for that to be true.”

  “Too what, Bobbi? Old?”

  “No! Too gorgeous.”

  Sasha sat back in her chair. Okay, maybe I’ve pushed this a little too far. She opened her mouth to stop Bobbi from saying anything else she might regret later, but Bobbi had worked up a full head of steam now.

  “You’re beautiful, Sasha, and you deserve to find a woman who can show you that. Who can love you and make you happy. You deserve that.” She swallowed and reached for Sasha’s hands. “You’re my best friend, and all I want is for you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  Bobbi shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re, well, it’s like you’re treading water. Waiting. Just waiting for that next thing to happen. Waiting for the next person to fall into your life. The next adventure to find you. But it won’t, Sash. It won’t come to you. You have to go out there and find them. There’s too much of you in here”—she tapped Sasha’s head—“that you won’t ever let any of us see, because you think it’ll blow our tiny minds.” She smiled again, sadder this time. “And you’re probably right.” She clasped Sasha’s hands in hers once more. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a person out there who can handle you. All of you. Because there is so much more in there to come out. Maybe this film stuff won’t work out, maybe it will. But if you don’t give it a shot, if you don’t give you a shot to come out of your shell, you’ll never know.” She lifted Sasha’s hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. “Time to stop treading water.”

  “What if I can’t swim?”

  “Then I’ll come and save you.” She glanced around the living room they were sitting in. “Bring you back to this little pond and never suggest you take off the arm bands ever again. But if you don’t try, Sash, if you don’t give it a real try, you’ll regret it. You know you will.”

  Sasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Since when did you get to be so wise?”

  “I already told you, since I started reading your scripts.” She squeezed her hand once more and then let go. “They’re how I really got to know you, Sasha. The real you. You have a talent and a passion that’s amazing.”

  “Bobbi, what if I can’t—”

  “You can. You really can. So go out there and be fabulous. Show me that dreams really do come true.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Sometimes I think it can be.” She drained her mug and put it back on the coffee table and stood, then slipped into her coat again. She leant down and kissed Sasha’s cheek. “Just don’t forget who your friends are.”

 
“Never.”

  “Good. Bye, then, Sasha,” she whispered and then left, quietly closing the door behind her.

  In words and action, Bobbi had shown Sasha exactly what she’d been talking about, and Sasha couldn’t help but admire her. In the same situation, would she have been as selfless? She’d like to think so. But could she be as brave?

  She pictured Jac, the floppy hair, the grey eyes, the charming smile, and that delicious wit.

  Could she be brave? She’d like to think so.

  Chapter 11

  Piles of paper were stacked around her desk, emails sat in her inbox awaiting her attention, but Jac couldn’t concentrate on the work. Instead, she flicked her pen between her middle and index fingers, then stared at her hand. Exactly how I used to flick ash off the end of a fag. Bloody hell. The craving only added to her frustrations.

  Jac picked up the handset for the phone at the corner of her desk and punched the speed dial to Sophie’s office before jamming it between her chin and shoulder as she continued to type. The ringing in her ear was annoying. Especially on rings eight, nine, and ten. It bounced as she threw it back into the cradle, jumping out and landing on her desk, spinning around the cord. In some absurd portion of her mind, it looked like a plastic fish. She sighed heavily and put it back with more care, deciding another email was probably the better way to go. Less chance of an argument.

  The door to her office swung open, and Mags leant against the frame, arms folded over her chest, ankles crossed. “You know it’s almost six, right? Time to knock off for the day.”

  Jac shook her head. “Can’t. Too much to do. I need to get the contracts out to the actors we cast this morning. Speaking of, is Sophie still pissed at me?”

  “Uh-huh,” Mags hummed.

  “Shit.” It wasn’t often they disagreed, especially not on casting decisions, but Sophie had been dead set against the actress she and Mags had felt was right for the role of Charlie. Apparently, something about her was “off”. The “debate” had become heated, and in the end Sophie had stormed off. Not at all usual. They’d get over it. They always did. You don’t remain friends for thirty years and not have the odd blow-up from time to time. “This project—”