‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Jesus! She nearly dropped it as she spun round to see Carrie standing in the doorway, Rory in her arms.
‘Sorry. I was just . . . I came to pick up some stuff for Adrian,’ she stammered, quickly replacing the BAFTA and grabbing the drawings from the desk.
‘Who let you in?’
‘He gave me his keys. He’s . . . We were on a recce and he’d forgotten the designs and so I offered. To come and get them. So he could continue.’
Carrie gave the tiniest nod and Emma was mortified. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you. He – Adrian – said you were out with a friend.’
‘I was supposed to have been. She cancelled.’
‘Oh, right. Like I said, I’m really sorry. The last person I’d want to upset is you.’
Emma saw Carrie’s frown of annoyance – and bafflement. She wished she could take her words back.
‘Emma, do you have my phone number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe do me the courtesy of letting me know next time.’
‘Oh yes. Of course.’
They stood there looking at each other and Emma felt a desperate urge to leave. ‘I’d better get these back. Location meeting starts in a bit. The recce went well this morning, found a good garage,’ she babbled.
‘Great,’ said Carrie.
Emma clutched the pictures to her chest, and walking awkwardly past Carrie, assured her she could see herself out.
Closing the front door behind her, she took a deep breath. She’d got away with it.
FIFTEEN
Monday 20 November
Adrian had texted to say he would be home later than usual and it wasn’t that bad, only nine o’clock, but Carrie’s irritation had steadily grown from the moment his message came through. He obviously knew about her run-in with Emma by now and he’d said nothing. Her anger was made worse by the fact she’d only had four hours’ sleep the night before and had been alone with Rory all day and she was exhausted.
He kissed her and she smelt booze.
‘Where did you go?’
‘Only The Crown – you know, opposite the office.’
‘Many of you?’ She tried to remain casual.
‘Me, Jake, Kenny.’ He had his head in the fridge, looking for something to eat.
‘Was Emma there?’
‘Emma? Oh . . . yeah,’ came Adrian’s muffled voice.
She waited for a bit, getting worked up as the silence continued. Seemed like she’d have to bring it up. ‘Did you not think to call me once you’d handed over your keys to our house?’
Holding a foraged Tupperware of leftover pasta in his hand, he shut the fridge door. He was looking at her, evaluating her level of annoyance, judging how much peace-making needed to be done.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was running around like the proverbial blue-arsed and Emma just offered to help out. I thought you were meeting someone – Hannah? – for lunch.’
‘She cancelled. Little Molly’s got a cold.’
‘Okey-dokey. You eaten?’ he asked, holding up the box of pasta.
She nodded. He headed to the microwave, beeped a few buttons; then the hum of the machine started.
‘She was holding your BAFTA,’ said Carrie. ‘When I walked in on her.’
Adrian chuckled, a self-congratulatory amusement that indicated he understood other people being fascinated by such trophies. ‘Was she?’
‘Sometimes . . . I’m not too sure about her.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, she’s so . . . fawning . . . sycophantic really.’
‘You’re an amazing producer. She looks up to you.’
‘I’ve produced three docu-drama serials.’
‘One of which was BAFTA-nominated.’
Not winning, she thought.
‘Still much bigger fish to admire out there. Maybe she’s so effusive because she thinks I can help her out. I’m – or rather my job – is useful to her.’
‘Probably helps the CV,’ he said casually.
She bristled. He was totally missing the point, and why did he have to be so goddamned good-natured all the time?
‘How’s she getting on?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, good. Really good. Had some brilliant ideas on the interview storyline – you know, the one we were getting stuck on.’
‘Did she now?’ she said snippily.
Adrian had turned round, his impatience finally surfacing. ‘She’s just trying to do her job.’
‘You mean my job.’
‘Yes, your job. And it’s still your job.’
He put his plate of pasta down and came over to her, wrapping his arms round her neck.
‘I’m sorry, OK? I should never have given her the keys and not let you know.’
She considered staying annoyed, but it was nice, this tiny moment of closeness, something they’d not had in a while. She allowed his apology to soften her mood and rested her head on his shoulder. Felt as if she could go to sleep right there.
He kissed her, nuzzling her neck. ‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Suppose.’ She smiled.
He kissed her again, more lingering this time. ‘Wanna go upstairs?’
She immediately deflated, a total wave of exhaustion flattening her. Did he not understand anything? She was in a constant state of worry. Just this morning, Rory’s entire body had gone into bi-tone, the right side of him red and the left side incredibly pale. She’d been petrified, but on calling the midwife, learned it was perfectly normal – something to do with his tiny new blood vessels still being sensitive to even slight changes in temperature. If it wasn’t Rory, it was her relationship and what was happening to it. Or her job, which she was convinced Emma was out to get. Carrie had seen the hungry, ambitious look on Emma’s face as she’d held up Adrian’s BAFTA. It was as if she’d owned it herself. People had short memories in TV and were dazzled by shiny, new things, so the threat of being replaced by a brilliant, child-free twenty-something who had all the time in the world to dedicate to the company she worked for was a very real one.
She couldn’t relax; the very idea of sex, of someone else needing a part of her when she was emotionally chopped up into so many pieces, made her nearly panic.
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ she said.
Adrian was doing his little-boy-hurt look. ‘Actually, no.’
‘I’ve had four hours’ sleep. Rory’s finally dropped off, but I know, I just know he’s going to wake again around midnight, and last time it took me two hours to feed him and put him down again. Then it’s going to happen all over again at about half three.’
They hadn’t had sex since before Rory had been born, but she could barely muster the strength to climb the two flights of stairs to bed. Her outburst had sucked the energy out of the room and they looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. She shook her head.
‘Sorry. It’s just hard at the moment, you know?’
He nodded and she left the room, not daring to look back. She knew there would be an expression of utter disillusionment on Adrian’s face and she couldn’t bear to see it.
Somehow she needed to regain control of some part of her life. Rory was a law unto himself and she was afraid to admit that the problems in her marriage ran deep, ever since she’d decided to have a baby.
But Emma getting her job? Over her dead body.
SIXTEEN
Wednesday 22 November
‘I want to come back.’ Carrie sat in Liz’s office, across the desk from her. Rory was next to her, miraculously asleep in his pram, and she could hear his little snuffling noises.
‘What . . . ?’ Liz’s eyes opened wide as she tried to comprehend. ‘You mean . . . ?’
‘Yes. Now. Or, rather, Monday. I want to come back to work.’
‘But we discussed three months. Rory’s only six weeks old.’
‘Five. And I’ve changed my mind.�
�� She mentally blocked out the feelings of guilt that had been a constant torment ever since she’d made her decision. Keep looking ahead, she instructed herself anxiously, feeling an impromptu desire to cry. If she looked at Rory, it might make her change her mind again.
Liz shook her head, a levelling movement to try and make sense of what Carrie was saying. ‘Why?’
‘I’m missing it.’ Carrie bit her tongue at the half-truth.
Liz laughed. ‘You’ve only just given birth! You’re not thinking straight.’
‘I’ve found a nursery for Rory and they can have him from next week.’ She saw Liz start at the suddenness of it all and felt a pang of anxiety. Why was she having to fight for what was rightfully hers?
Liz frowned. ‘Is it Emma? Are you worried she’s not handling things? Because I can assure you you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about in that department. She’s doing an amazing job and in fact is surpassing all our expectations. It’s quite extraordinary really, considering how young she is.’
‘For God’s sake, Liz, I’m coming back to work and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!’
She hadn’t meant to shout and Liz flinched, and then her eyes rose to the glass window behind Carrie. Carrie turned and saw Emma walking past with two teas. She’d stalled at Carrie’s outburst, clearly overhearing, but quickly hurried on again, eyes straight ahead.
Carrie turned back to find Liz watching her carefully.
‘So . . . as I was saying . . .’ said Liz as she smiled supportively, ‘you are OK with Emma, aren’t you? Happy with the work she’s done? Only, I’d hate for you to be sacrificing your time with Rory because of any concerns. You can tell me anything in confidence.’
‘Oh yes, more than happy,’ said Carrie, forcing a smile. ‘She’s been amazing. And her work on the scripts – brilliant.’ She didn’t have to lie at that: Emma was exceptional. Carrie perfected a casual shrug. ‘I just want to come back to work, that’s all. Want to get stuck in again. Going mad cooped up at home with a small baby all day.’
They laughed together and Carrie felt ashamed.
‘OK, if that’s what you want,’ said Liz.
‘It is, it really is. Thank you. Only . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like to work part-time. Still see a bit of Rory.’ The truth was, she hadn’t quite the heart to put him in the orphanage nursery for the whole week.
‘I completely understand.’
Carrie nodded in relief.
‘Except that this isn’t really a part-time gig. You know that . . .’
‘I believe I can make it work.’
Liz couldn’t help laughing, a sound of incredulity, mixed with just the tiniest shade of disdain, of not quite believing what she’d just heard. ‘Carrie, the show is about to go into production . . .’
‘I know, but—’
‘It won’t work.’
Carrie almost decided to put Rory in the orphanage fulltime, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she churned inside while she thought of ways to persuade her boss to agree to the impossible.
Liz softened her voice, but her message was clear. ‘I’m sorry – it’s full-time or it just can’t work. Not with filming about to start. Do you want to think about it?’
Crushed, Carrie nodded, then got up from the chair and left.
SEVENTEEN
Wednesday 22 November
Emma knocked on Liz’s door and awaited her invitation to come in. Then she entered and closed it softly behind her.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing . . . and it’s fine. I know I’m contracted until the new year, but if Carrie wants to come back sooner, then it’s OK.’ In truth, the possibility frightened her deeply, to lose another job, but alienating Carrie scared her more.
Liz smiled. ‘So you did hear. Well, it’s not settled yet. There’s an issue over hours.’
Emma thought. ‘You mean Carrie wants part-time?’
‘Uh-huh. But that’s not going to work. Anyway, I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.’
Liz looked away, as if the conversation were over, but Emma suddenly had something she wanted to say. ‘I . . . Um, tell me if this is completely out of the question, but . . . do you think Carrie would consider a job-share? I mean, I’m not saying I should be a producer or anything,’ she reassured quickly, ‘but I could stick around for the days she’s not in – if that helps at all?’
Liz was watching her, pondering her proposal.
‘Do you know, I think you might actually be on to something here. We’ve all noticed how well you’ve fitted in – and shown an aptitude beyond script-editing. You’ve even taken some of the producing tasks over for me, dealt with them well.’ Liz paused. ‘Would you be interested in taking on more responsibility? Actually stepping up to producer? Carrie would still lead, but if you held the reins when she wasn’t here, I think she could get what she wants.’
Emma could not believe her luck. To think she’d come into this place as a humble script editor just a short time ago and now she had her first bite at the producing cherry.
‘I’d love to.’
Liz smiled. ‘Good. We’d make it official, and in recognition of your increased responsibility and input, there will be added remuneration.’
‘Wow . . . thank you.’
‘I think it would be best if you still did the full five days so you’ll be working alongside Carrie. And between you and me, babies can be unpredictable. I’ve no doubt there’ll be times when Carrie’s called away. I’ll have to clear all this with her, but I don’t anticipate any problems. She’s been singing your praises too.’
Had she? Emma’s heart soared.
For the rest of the day she could barely contain her excitement. She was going to be a producer!
EIGHTEEN
Wednesday 22 November
As she journeyed home, Emma held her news close, letting the joy of it bubble over again and again. She became aware she was attracting curious looks – complete strangers were catching her eye and offering intrigued smiles. Lost in her own thoughts, she would be surprised by the attention and smile back.
She had a promotion!
Carrie liked her work!
What would her parents say? She couldn’t wait to tell them, to see their faces light up. She was going to be a real producer on a real show. She was going to get a credit! Her mum and dad could watch TV and see her name, which would come up in one of the prestigious positions right at the start of the programme. She’d never expected her offer of job-sharing to be taken seriously, but how right she’d been to speak up. Everything was working out just as she’d hoped it would.
She jumped off the train and hurried the few streets in the dark to her house. A welcoming light was glowing outside. She let herself in and took off her shoes, hung up her coat, then went into the kitchen, brimming with excitement and anticipation.
Alice looked up from stirring something on the stove, an apron over her blouse and navy skirt. ‘Oh, hi, Emma. Is it still raining?’
‘No, not anymore.’
Brian was setting the table. ‘You joining us?’
‘Yes.’ She was wrong-footed by the question – she always did unless she called ahead to say she’d be late – but decided to bury the vague sense of not being included.
‘Good day?’ asked Alice.
Emma felt the joy surge in her again. She beamed at them, but her mother was adding salt and her father was inspecting the cleanliness of a wine glass.
Go on, tell them! Oh God, she was nervous as hell.
‘Actually, I’ve had a rather spectacular day.’
Both of them looked at her, surprised. Suddenly noticing her excitement.
‘I’ve officially been asked to job-share as a producer.’
It took a moment for this to sink in and then Alice’s face tentatively lit up. ‘Really? How come?’
‘The woman I’ve been covering for is coming back from maternity leave but only wants to work pa
rt-time – and so I’m going to be doing the role with her.’
‘So you’ll be part-time too?’ asked Brian dubiously.
‘No.’ Emma couldn’t keep the triumphant note out of her voice. ‘They want me full-time. That way, I can support the lead producer more.’
‘Well . . . seems like you’ve made quite an impression,’ said Alice, breaking into a full smile and coming over. She gave Emma a delicate hug. ‘Congratulations, darling.’
Emma grinned. ‘Thanks.’
‘Yes, well done, Emma,’ said Brian, and although Emma could detect the note of surprise in his voice, she didn’t care.
Brian suddenly let the good news take hold and went to the fridge. ‘This calls for a celebration.’ He pulled out a bottle of champagne. Away went the dubiously clean wine glasses and out came the flutes.
‘So what exactly does this mean you’ll be doing?’ asked Alice, holding her glass out as Brian filled it. She clinked Emma’s glass.
‘I’m going to be co-producing,’ said Emma, still relishing the sound of her new position, ‘on a show for the BBC.’
She saw her father puff up with a carefully measured, very restrained approval and her heart swelled.
‘The BBC,’ repeated Alice, looking at her daughter in a new light. Emma knew she was already thinking about which of her friends she could tell this piece of news, just subtly dropped into conversation. ‘And you’re producing, you say?’
Her mother was checking the facts for her story.
‘Co-producing,’ Emma corrected.
‘It’s still being a producer, though?’ confirmed Alice.
‘It is. I’ll be the junior half of the team, but—’
‘Don’t put yourself down. No one ever gave out prizes to those who declared themselves not winners,’ said Brian.
She wasn’t putting herself down, just being accurate, but Emma didn’t feel like labouring the point.
‘To think we’d almost given up on you,’ he added jovially.
Emma smiled briefly.
‘Did you get good terms?’
‘Yes, more than fair salary.’
‘Holidays?’
‘Well, I probably won’t be taking any as it’s going to be full-on until we shoot; then it’s almost impossible once you start filming, but yes, on a pro-rata basis.’
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