Carrie, meanwhile, became passionate about telling real-life stories and got her own share of success. They both worked extremely hard and rewarded themselves with expensive holidays to exotic locations, whenever they could fit them in around their demanding work schedules. They had fulfilled dreams of diving with whale sharks in the Maldives and had even taken a trip to Antarctica. They drank fine wine. They bought white furniture. Adrian had a two-seater BMW and bought a place by the sea, in Broadstairs on the Kent coast. They’d mapped out a lifestyle for themselves that was envied among their child-burdened friends, so when Carrie unexpectedly became pregnant at the age of forty-two, she was thrown by her instinctive reluctance to have an abortion. Maybe it was her body’s innate last-chance grab at procreating before it became barren; maybe it was because the foetus was already fourteen weeks old and was able to make facial expressions, its eyes able to squint. She didn’t know, but she just couldn’t go through with it.
Adrian had been poleaxed. It was so far from his vision for his life it had taken him two whole days to even fully understand it was real. Then the recriminations had started – how had she got pregnant? (Forgotten to take her pill, simple as that.) She was sorry, but what was done was done. She couldn’t ‘depregnant’ herself, even though she often thought that would be a whole lot easier than the difficult decision they were trying to make, with the sand in the timer running through at a rapid pace. Eventually they both realized they’d set sail on a new ship that was going along regardless of what they thought about it and there was no getting off. Adrian had never quite reconciled himself to her decision, and deep down Carrie knew that they both had their heads in the sand, ignoring the impending third person about to join their household.
That third person suddenly gave her a massive kick to the ribs.
‘Ouch,’ she winced.
‘You OK?’
‘Baby practising football.’
He nodded.
‘Has no idea of the pain it’s inflicting. Speaking of which, we’ve got “Massage During Labour” tonight.’
He looked sheepish and her heart sank.
‘Sorry . . .’
‘You’re not coming?’
‘I had a bolt of inspiration today. For episode four. I want to get it down while it’s still fresh in my mind.’
She frowned and thought, Why couldn’t he have got it down earlier in the day instead of during antenatal class?
‘Hey, come on, don’t be like that. I’ve come to all the others, haven’t I? And I want to get this script right for the boss – she’s scary.’ He gave her his best little-boy cheeky smile.
She found his dissembling depressing but didn’t want to say so, feeling no good would come of it. This was what they were like lately: stop-start, never quite connecting. The easy harmony of their relationship had got lost somewhere in the last few months.
Later, at the antenatal class, as the only woman who’d come alone, Carrie found herself partnered with the midwife. She offered up the excuse about Adrian working, which no one really listened to, as the other mums-to-be were directing their – some attentive, some less so – husbands and partners to their best points of massage. As Carrie looked around the room, she saw that there were some women without the fathers-to-be, but they’d come with their mothers, proud women with a light of excitement in their eyes about their future grandchild.
Oh Mum, thought Carrie, I could do with you now, and she felt a wave of brutal sadness that threatened to engulf her. The midwife noticed her tense up and rubbed her shoulders.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ said Carrie brightly, the lie making her feel even more lonely, but she dared not look into the crevasse of pain that still opened up in her every now and then, even though ten years had passed. It was too deep, too dark, and all she could cope with at that moment was fending off the visceral wrench that was the physical manifestation of how much she missed her mother. If it’s a girl, I’ll call her Helen, she suddenly decided, and this did something to ease the longing.
The midwife finished the massage, then went round the room to check on the techniques of the other partners. Carrie watched as she gave out tips to the dads. She thought of Adrian and his absenteeism. Reminded herself again of how it would all be different when the baby came. How both of them would fall desperately in love with it.
SIX
Monday 16 October
They spoke differently to each other now that there were three of them in the room. Gone was the intimacy of just her and Adrian lying back on the sofas, dissecting their characters, his dialogue and figuring out where and how to make the story more dramatic.
Emma sat upright in a small chair, eyes shining, pen poised. She was keen, Carrie couldn’t deny her that, but she found her eagerness suffocating. Carrie had sent an email to her earlier confirming their meeting time, and Emma’s reply was signed off with a kiss. She’d been a little taken aback, despite the fact they were standard for the most part in the TV industry and a sign of the warmth of your relationship or your standing with your boss. No kiss: relations were aloof or you’d done something to offend the boss and could consider yourself out of favour. But generally they were doled out generously and there were enough kisses flying around to start a herpes epidemic.
She looked at Emma sitting across from her and wished she’d relax a bit. In her experience, it was usually best to come at story problems sideways. Approach the creeping tendrils head on and you usually ended up ensnared and unable to think your way out. Adrian had written up his breakthrough on episode four and continued working through the night, delivering his script the morning after antenatal class and then promptly spending the whole of the next day in bed to recover. They’d all now read it and it was clear something wasn’t quite working.
The ex-movie star, Leon, started the series filing for bankruptcy and kissing goodbye to his car collection, his village in Spain and his submarine. Over the course of the next few episodes, he battled with his own arrogance and misplaced sense of expectation, and painfully faced up to what it meant to ‘downsize’. He struggled to deal with the everyday tasks needed to survive, such as going to a supermarket to get food. He lost his so-called friends too and became estranged from his family, but he started a will-they, won’t-they relationship with Sally, a down-to-earth, no-nonsense girl. By episode four, he was on the cusp of recovery: a job and a new closeness with Sally, who despised the shallowness of the movie business. Just as he was about to sign the job contract, his agent came knocking – he’d been offered a half-decent part in a new film alongside today’s big star. The lure of a return to fame and fortune beckoned. But if he took it, he’d almost certainly sabotage his fledgling relationship. What was a guy with a dyed head of hair who’d once owned a wine cellar the size of a tennis court to do?
Somehow the script wasn’t reading poignantly enough and it was important to have viewers on the edge of their seats, willing him to make the right decision – whatever that might be, as many would be as torn as Leon: another chance at success or a relationship with someone who loved him for who he was?
‘I just feel there needs to be more at stake,’ said Carrie. ‘Obviously the relationship is a big deal, but there needs to be another layer, something to really encourage us to feel he’s making the wrong decision when he takes the film role.’
‘What if Sally is pregnant?’ said Adrian. ‘He turns his back on her and their unborn child.’
Carrie glanced at him, uncomfortable with this reference that echoed their own situation, but he seemed oblivious. ‘Hmm, could be. Bit callous, though?’
‘Doesn’t have to be. He can be totally genuine about wanting to see the child, and if he does the acting gig, he’ll earn a lot more than the “respectable” job, which he can argue is all for the baby.’
‘But ultimately she’s made it clear she hates the industry and what it does to him – she’d rather have him poor and genuine than rich and full of grandeur. And coke.’
Carrie could sense Emma flicking her eyes between them as if she were watching a tennis match. She could also sense that Emma was dying to speak, and knew that if she caught her eye, she’d have to acknowledge this. She decided to look her way.
‘Is it OK . . . ?’ started Emma tentatively. ‘I just had an idea. Might be silly, but . . .’
Adrian threw a languid hand in the air. ‘Go for it.’
‘What if Sally was ill? Something serious. Maybe she’d found out a few days before and doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want it to influence his decision. It can’t be a mercy relationship. So when he, with a heavy heart, decides to take up the part in the film, he has no idea what he’s doing to her.’
Carrie felt the familiar tingling on her skin when a story moved her, a sensation creeping up the back of her neck that exploded in a cascade of goosebumps. Neither she nor Adrian said anything, just looked at Emma while it sank in. Adrian, who’d been lying back on the sofa, suddenly sat bolt upright.
‘I love it. Hey – maybe it’s terminal. There’s a chance she won’t be around after his six-month-stint filming in Mexico . . .’
‘But she just can’t let him know this,’ continued Emma. ‘It’s not just the fact she doesn’t want him to choose her out of guilt; it’s because she loves him and she wants him to have his chance, however much she thinks it’s the wrong decision.’
Adrian was on his feet now. ‘Bloody brilliant!’ He turned to Carrie, ran his hands through his tufty hair. ‘She’s totally unlocked it!’
Carrie, who’d been sitting quietly, feeling isolated as she watched her husband and the new girl story-riff off each other, quickly smiled. ‘It’s a great idea, Emma. Well done.’
Emma beamed at her as if the teacher in class had just praised her.
‘Right, I gotta get this down,’ said Adrian, heading for the door. ‘I’m gonna work in the back office for a bit. Start seeding all this in. What do you think, Emma? Cancer?’
Emma nodded. ‘Could be.’
He raised an outstretched arm, pointed a finger at her. ‘You . . . are awesome.’
Carrie saw Emma give a self-conscious smile and then Adrian left the room, buzzing with the new injection of life to his script.
A quietness descended.
‘I hope it was OK . . .’ began Emma timorously, ‘speaking out like that?’
She’d seen the results – what did she think? Then Carrie crushed her churlishness. Poor girl was probably nervous.
‘Of course. That’s what we pay you for,’ she said, and instantly regretted reducing it to a transaction. What was wrong with her? She looked at her watch. ‘Time for lunch?’
‘I’d love to.’
Too late Carrie realized Emma had taken it as an invitation. Some time to sit together and get to know one another – and for Emma to understand her job more. Carrie wasn’t actually that hungry – in fact, the thought of food made her feel positively nauseous. She said as much, as gently as she could to Emma, who was all graciousness and concern.
‘No problem. I hope you’re OK. Can I get you anything?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Well, let me know if you change your mind. Ginger’s meant to be good for nausea. Just shout and I’ll nip out. Anytime.’
Carrie thanked her and, suddenly wanting to be alone, heaved herself to her feet.
Emma quickly stood too. ‘And I meant to say – would you like to go over anything before our meeting this afternoon?’
With a lurch, Carrie realized she was talking about the meeting with the commissioning executive from the BBC, who would be coming over to the office to talk about casting. Meetings with commissioners were like a sacred audience with the Pope: rare and special and highly desired. Many a producer would keep anyone junior from attending, because if you were able to get friendly with a commissioner, you had their ear. And if you had their ear, you could pitch them ideas that they actually listened to and that could ultimately lead to the revered green light. Carrie suddenly realized she didn’t want Emma there.
‘It’s all fine, thanks, Emma. And Liz will be in the meeting with myself and Adrian, so we’ll probably not want to make it any more top-heavy . . .’
She’d been expecting something – a look of hurt or anger – but to her surprise Emma got it straight away.
‘Oh, it’s no problem. I’ve got plenty to get on with typing up these script notes.’
After she’d left, Carrie felt guilty again. It was even harder than she’d thought, letting go of her job. She went into Liz’s office to check over the latest budget emails from the accountant, which took her mind off the temp until she was distracted by seeing Emma and Adrian in the open-plan office. Emma had got him a sandwich and he was talking animatedly to her. Then he beckoned her into the back office and she followed him, before closing the door.
‘What?’
Liz had been saying something she’d totally missed.
‘Baby brain hit you already?’ said Liz, smiling. ‘I’m just saying Kenny’s a very expensive director. Fine if you and Adrian are dead set, but I do think you should meet James as well. His credits are amazing, and he’s available in January now the Channel 4 project has fallen through.’
‘Fine. Yes . . . Good idea.’
‘Are you OK?’ said Liz, looking at her with concern. ‘You seem a little tired.’
She was exhausted, having been woken by the agonizing pain in her hips at four in the morning and not been able to lie down again as it just hurt too much. But she didn’t want to admit this, so she settled for: ‘A bit. Nothing an early night won’t cure.’ And she would have one: she’d get home tonight, pull the old duvet out of the airing cupboard and try sleeping on top of that. The extra padding might just bag her another hour or two.
Liz suddenly looked up through the window. ‘Luke’s here,’ she said, standing. Carrie turned to see the BBC’s commissioning executive wave to her.
‘Shall I get the others?’ asked Liz.
Carrie spoke quickly. ‘It’s just Adrian. Emma’s busy on something. I’ll go and grab him.’
‘You look amazing! Such a neat bump!’ said Luke as they all took seats in the conference room.
Carrie was always surprised at how many people said this as if it were a great achievement. As if a baby bump were a fashion accessory. But she smiled and looked suitably pleased, then complimented Luke on his jacket (a new one to add to his collection, which he always wore over a V-necked white T-shirt with a pair of jeans) and his recent Sunday-night success – a show that had viewing figures of over eight million.
The office runner, a young graduate called Zack with a first from Cambridge, popped his head round the door to take the order for teas and coffees. Once he’d left, a quiet hush fell over the room.
‘I’m so excited about this one,’ said Luke, drumming his hands on his thighs in relish. ‘The scripts are superb.’
Adrian grinned. ‘Thanks.’
‘How’s episode four?’
‘Going well. Should have something to read pretty soon.’
‘Can’t wait,’ enthused Luke. ‘So . . . casting!’
‘We’ve had some responses,’ said Liz.
‘Go on . . . spill,’ said Luke.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Carrie looked up in surprise as Emma came in, carrying a tray of drinks. Why was she bringing them in? It was Zack who’d come to see what they wanted.
‘Zack had to run an errand,’ Emma said in answer to Carrie’s silent question.
‘This is Emma,’ said Liz to Luke. ‘She’s going to be covering when Carrie goes on maternity leave.’
Luke looked at her with interest, stood to shake her hand.
Carrie tensed, waiting for the ‘So aren’t you joining us, then?’ from Luke, but he was too professional, and in the awkward void she suddenly felt like an idiot – and shame washed over her. Of course Emma should be there. Carrie had let the hormones and the tiredness get the better of her and she was about t
o invite her to stay when Emma spoke.
‘Must get on. Nice to meet you.’ She obediently left, but as she went through the door, she flashed a smile at Carrie. From her position, no one else could see.
It wrong-footed her. Was it . . . triumphant? Or had she imagined it?
Luke was speaking. ‘So . . . Leon. Our anti-hero. Dare I ask . . . any news on Jude Law?’
Carrie forced herself to concentrate. ‘Sadly, he’s passed. He was keen, but there’s an availability issue. His movie with Guy Ritchie films in Feb.’
‘Damn that Guy Ritchie!’
‘Especially as he was originally set to go in April – when we would have been finished,’ said Liz. ‘His shoot’s been brought forward.’
‘Bet he did it on purpose,’ said Adrian. They all laughed.
‘Michael Sheen is looking hopeful,’ said Carrie, crossing her fingers as a twinge across her abdomen brought her up short. She breathed in sharply. Rubbed her bump.
‘He would be amazing,’ said Luke.
‘We’ve got a breakfast set for next week,’ said Adrian.
‘You still around?’ Luke asked Carrie.
Dead right I am. ‘Yes. I don’t go off for another two weeks.’
‘Brilliant.’
Enthusiastic looks crossed all of their faces except for Carrie, who was struck by another acute pain. What was it? And then wetness trickled down her legs and she felt it soak into the sofa. ‘Oh,’ she said involuntarily.
They all looked at her – yes? But she wasn’t able to answer as another spasm gripped her. This time she couldn’t help but let out a low moan.
Liz came to her senses first. ‘Oh my God, Carrie. Do we need to get you an ambulance?’
Carrie was still grimacing and unable to talk. Adrian looked shell-shocked and didn’t seem to know what to do.
The Temp Page 3