The Temp

Home > Other > The Temp > Page 10
The Temp Page 10

by Michelle Frances


  He was silent so long she thought he might have left the room. She turned and he gave a tight smile.

  ‘Yeah. Can’t quite imagine that now. All he seems to do is cry, eat, sleep.’

  ‘That’s like all babies, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  Well, she didn’t know, but he should – he was the one with a child. She hid the thought and smiled. ‘I’m not an expert, but that’s my general understanding.’

  ‘I’m no expert either.’ He was smiling back conspiratorially at her and she was uncomfortable with how he seemed to want to align himself with her.

  Adrian sat at the table opposite her and cut a mouthful of quiche. ‘So how about you? Have holidays by the seaside when you were growing up?’

  ‘Sort of. My parents have a place in Italy, on Lake Maggiore. So it was a lake beach as opposed to the ocean.’

  ‘The Italian Lakes? Nice.’

  ‘Yeah. They’d both done well in their respective careers before I came along.’

  ‘Late addition?’

  ‘My mum was in her forties.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘So were you . . . I mean, had they been trying for a family for long?’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve overstepped the mark.’

  ‘It’s OK. My parents had trouble conceiving.’

  ‘Didn’t give up, though. Must’ve been keen to have a child.’

  ‘They were. Extremely. They went to great lengths to have me.’

  He exhaled heavily. ‘Wow. It really hits some people hard, eh. That need to procreate. But it’s good,’ he added, seeing her face. ‘Good that they were both happy to have a’ – here, he took a large intake of breath – ‘massive change of lifestyle.’

  ‘For a while. I was sent to boarding school,’ she explained.

  ‘Ah. Guess that’s always an option for Rory,’ he joked.

  Don’t you dare, thought Emma. ‘It was pretty miserable,’ she said lightly.

  ‘And your parents?’

  ‘What about them?’

  He hesitated. ‘Still together?’

  She looked at him. He made her skin crawl. What a shitbag. Discussing all this, albeit in a shoddy veiled way, with her. But she smiled warmly, almost encouragingly, and said, ‘Very much so.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Thursday 14 December

  ‘Marsh Pictures,’ sing-songed the receptionist.

  ‘Hello. Could I please speak to Elaine Marsh?’ asked Carrie. It was the fourth time she’d called since she’d bumped into Elaine at BAFTA, just over a week ago. Each time she’d got through to her assistant, Leanne, and then been fobbed off with some lame excuse. She knew they were excuses as even Leanne was starting to sound embarrassed. Carrie gritted her teeth waiting to be put through, knowing she was deliberately being made to sweat. She was being punished for stealing Adrian away.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Leanne. It’s Carrie Kennedy again. Is Elaine around?’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  Again Carrie heard the telltale self-conscious note in Leanne’s voice that told her Elaine was likely sitting in her office, a couple of metres from her PA.

  As she waited to learn if she would be graced with Elaine’s phone presence, she continued to push Rory’s pram back and forth at the top of the stairwell. This wasn’t a conversation she could have in the open-plan office, and her husband occupied the conference room, so she’d been forced out here to try and talk to Elaine at the same time as trying to get Rory to sleep after his feed. At the moment, Rory was being the more compliant.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Carrie, but Elaine’s on another call at the moment.’

  Carrie bristled. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I . . . You what?’

  ‘I know perfectly well she’s not, so don’t waste your breath lying for her. ELAINE, I KNOW YOU’RE LISTENING IN TO THIS CALL,’ Carrie shouted into her phone, ‘AND SOONER OR LATER YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TALK TO ME.’

  A wail started up from the pram. What the hell had she been thinking? She quickly pushed Rory up and down the short landing and he began to settle again.

  ‘As I said, Elaine’s . . . otherwise engaged,’ said Leanne curtly. ‘Can I take a message?’

  Carrie hung up. She took a few deep breaths. Luke from the BBC was arriving soon and she had to be on form. She lifted and dropped her shoulders several times, trying to release the tension, the tiredness. Glancing down at the pram, she saw Rory was asleep once more, and now he was getting into a routine, should remain so for the next two hours. At least something was going to plan.

  She carefully wheeled him back into the office and then into Liz’s room. Checking he was settled, she hurried back to her desk to look for the casting DVDs for the meeting. Her desk seemed to be a pile of papers and she rummaged frantically but couldn’t find them.

  ‘Are you looking for these?’

  Carrie glanced up to see Emma holding up the DVDs.

  ‘I’ve gone through them and marked the time codes of our front-runners,’ said Emma. ‘Make it easier when we’re playing it for Luke.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Carrie tersely. Why did Emma always have to undermine her?

  ‘And I’ve just spoken to the art department. They’re finishing up Leon’s living room as we speak – got some great kitsch props from his time as a hotshot actor, so that should be fun to see. They’ve even got a grass-topped coffee table!’ Emma laughed and Carrie bit her tongue and forced the briefest of smiles in return.

  Emma faltered. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No. What could be wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . It’s just . . . sometimes I feel that I’m not supporting you the way you’d like me to.’

  Carrie looked at her. ‘Luke’s going to be here in a minute. Are we ready?’

  ‘I’ll just go and check the TV’s working in the meeting room,’ said Emma, heading away.

  Carrie sat down abruptly. She had to get a grip. They needed to be able to work together and she certainly shouldn’t let something as petty as Emma’s enthusiasm get her down. It was a waste of energy. Let her do the checks, the grunt work. It was useful. Carrie got up to see how the conference room was looking – and to prove to them both she could be a little more pleasant to be around.

  She saw Emma first through the glass window. She was bent over the DVD player, pressing buttons, making sure everything was coming on. Adrian was sitting on the sofa going through his script – except his eyes weren’t on the page. Instead, they were looking at Emma’s shapely backside, clad in black jeans.

  Neither had any idea she was there. She hesitated a moment and then jumped as she heard Luke’s voice ring out. She went to the reception area to greet him.

  ‘He’s brilliant,’ said Luke, as the actor reading for the part of Leon’s agent went through his lines on screen. ‘Got a really good ruthless quality to him.’

  ‘He does,’ agreed Carrie, ‘and I liked him in that Netflix crime drama.’

  Everyone chimed in agreements as the DVD played on; then the actor disappeared with an abrupt cut to black. Emma paused the DVD – they’d watched both of the contenders now.

  ‘So we’re debating between these two,’ said Adrian. ‘Eddie, the actor who we’ve just seen, or Simon.’

  Luke crossed his legs, sat back. ‘It’s hard. Both delivered a fantastic audition.’ He stroked his chin. ‘Like I say, I think Eddie’s got the edge on scariness – he’s got that “don’t mess with me” quality. But Simon has more charm.’

  ‘He’s definitely sexier,’ said Liz.

  ‘Those eyes!’ swooned Luke, which was met with laughter.

  ‘But don’t we want our lead to be the sexy one?’ said Carrie. ‘He’s taken this quality for granted and now he’s lost it – gradually gets his mojo back? And Eddie’s brutal ruthlessness will really add to the pressure, both when our lead loses his job and when he’s to
rn about returning to acting.’

  Various ‘Hmm’s and nodding.

  ‘I’ll admit if my hand were forced, I’d probably err on the side of sexy Simon,’ said Adrian. ‘I like his devil-may-care quality.’

  ‘I prefer more contrast,’ said Carrie. It was said light-heartedly, but their difference of opinion made the room feel gladiatorial.

  ‘What do you think, Emma?’ asked Luke.

  A ripple of surprise rolled over the room and Carrie saw Emma shift uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘It’s not really my call,’ she said.

  ‘Still like to hear your opinion,’ said Luke.

  ‘OK . . . Well, I think Carrie’s right – Eddie’s steely quality will help up the pressure . . . but Simon’s charm is also very manipulating.’

  ‘She’s sitting on the fence!’ said Luke, smiling. He wagged his finger. ‘Not allowed.’

  Everyone was looking at Emma. She took a deep breath. ‘There’s something about Simon that I think is more interesting. I think his persuasive charm also comes across as very dark, very threatening.’

  Carrie kept the pleasant look on her face, but inside she was furious. Then, faintly, a sound that set her nerves on edge. A wail, intermittent at first but quickly picking up. Every muscle tensed in her body. She knew she had to get up, to go and see to Rory. She looked across at Adrian, expecting – what? An empathetic smile, a knowing look? But he wouldn’t even meet her eye. Why don’t you go for once? she thought. Why can’t you just help?

  The resentment held her in its grip, rendering her rigid, and she didn’t move. The crying got louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a couple of the staff glance tentatively over at Liz’s office. Adrian finally flicked a look over to her: frustration mixed with an urgent dismissal.

  Rory amplified his yells.

  ‘Is there a baby here?’ asked Luke, looking around.

  An awkward hiatus settled over the room. Carrie could sense Liz getting irritated.

  He’s yours, Adrian, thought Carrie angrily. He’s yours too – admit it! But the silence reigned until, suddenly, Emma stood.

  ‘Will you excuse me just a moment?’ she said, and left the room.

  Carrie stared open-mouthed as Emma went to Liz’s office. She was on her feet and following, just in time to see Emma pick Rory up out of the pram.

  ‘Give him to me,’ she snapped.

  Emma obeyed and Carrie tried to calm her son.

  ‘Bad idea,’ hissed Adrian, suddenly coming up behind her as he pulled on his jacket.

  With one look at them both, Emma slunk off.

  ‘Thanks for the support,’ hissed Carrie.

  ‘Me? What about you? Why’s it my job to sort him? You’re not even supposed to be here today. It’s meant to be your day off.’

  ‘That would’ve made it easier for you to get the actor you want.’

  ‘Your opinion would still be counted.’

  ‘My opinion is worthless when you gang up with Emma.’

  Adrian expelled a frustrated sigh. ‘We weren’t ganging up. We just happened to agree, that’s all.’ His eyes were ablaze. ‘I never signed up for this, Carrie.’ Then he walked away.

  She saw Liz approach. ‘Carrie, I think it might be better if Rory doesn’t come to Pinewood,’ she said, and Carrie could do nothing but nod.

  She gently kissed the top of her now quiet son’s head and watched as they all left the office without her.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Thursday 14 December

  She just couldn’t seem to get Carrie on her side. Emma had only meant to help, but Carrie had been livid when she’d picked up Rory, as if she couldn’t bear for her to touch him. He had been so light, so tiny, and she’d felt a rush of warmth for the few seconds he’d been in her arms.

  She glanced across at the set designer, who was enthusiastically pointing out the grass-topped coffee table to Luke.

  ‘Is it real?’ asked Luke, amazed. He touched the cool green blades.

  Adrian handed him a small contraption.

  Luke grinned. ‘Get out of here.’

  Adrian pushed a button on the side of the miniature lawnmower and placed it on the tabletop. It began to slice off the top of the grass and Luke clapped his hands in delight. Adrian and Liz smiled, pleased at his response, and Emma had to admit, as props went, it was pretty cool. But she couldn’t concentrate properly on any of it. She was angry at herself for her part in the scene that had taken place in the office. Perhaps she should’ve just sided with Carrie on her choice of actor, but she’d genuinely thought the other was better.

  Maybe that didn’t matter. The thought of alienating Carrie was too terrifying. This job, this connection, was all she had right now. Emma had plans beyond this job. If she were to be a successful writer, she’d need a producer to champion her work. She could think of no one more perfect than Carrie. For all kinds of reasons.

  She shook off the unsettling feeling and glanced up. Adrian was playing the fool and trying on a Viking hat. If only she could show him for who he really was. She needed to work harder, search deeper. There must be something hidden away. At the beach house, possibly. She needed to go back.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Friday 15 December

  A man in a red Santa suit was beaming at several delighted children outside Hamleys, the world-famous toy store. He handed out balloons as they thronged forward, shiny eyes tilted upwards, drawn to him like bees to nectar. Carrie was unable to pass and was brought out of her internal reverie, mildly confused by what was going on.

  She glanced around, taking in the scene. Christmas.

  She’d known, of course, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, but somehow the noisiest holiday of the year had not fully penetrated her consciousness until now. Christmas! It shocked her how she’d managed to get to the middle of December without being truly aware of what was going on around her. It was another reminder of how tired and dazed she was, how stressed. How her life had been so dramatically and irrevocably changed, something that scared the living daylights out of her if she allowed herself to think about it too much.

  Thoughts of the previous year drifted through her mind, wistful images of a life now gone: she and Adrian in a wooden bungalow over a clear lagoon with steps that led down into the waist-deep water. Snorkelling along the reef, then later exchanging gifts on the beach over dinner. They’d been so close then, so content. He’d certainly never looked at other women. Carrie had carefully questioned him on the way he’d been staring at Emma’s backside the day before, but he’d vehemently denied it. Said she’d had his line of vision wrong. She’d felt a rush of anger, not just at him but at her too. Ever since Emma had come along, everything had gone wrong. She had nearly pressed it with him, but it would have only led to a full-blown argument, something she couldn’t face. It didn’t help that he had come home late – around eight – by which time Carrie was already in her pyjamas. Neither of them had mentioned the disastrous end to the meeting.

  A child no taller than her hips bumped into her in his rush to get some of Santa’s balloon stock before it ran out. She placed a hand on the baby pouch strapped to her chest as she navigated the excited children. She hadn’t spoken to Adrian about what they were going to do this year – and nor had he brought it up. They’d probably stay in the house in London, the day playing out with its feeds and naps, exactly the same as any other day.

  Carrie continued down the brightly lit Regent Street, turning off into the southern end of Soho and heading for Golden Square. She could see the glossy red door that led to Marsh Pictures’ offices just ahead and prayed Rory would stay asleep long enough for her to have a direct conversation with Elaine. It was rather dramatic, doorstepping her, but it was the only way she could get Elaine to actually speak to her.

  There was a green-and-gold holly wreath hanging on the door, which only served to remind her she’d put no thought into decorating their home (neither did she have the energy to do so), and then the door s
uddenly opened and out walked Elaine herself, with a small dog on a lead.

  Carrie’s heart jumped and she hurried forward – they’d have the conversation in the street if they had to. She was about to shout out when she saw Elaine was on the phone and marching north in her orange-heeled boots, her pink floral scarf flying behind her in the cold winter wind. Carrie clutched Rory and quickened her step. Elaine dodged through the narrow Soho streets, going at a pace that belied her heels. Carrie broke into a half-run, began to gain on her, and then finally, in a last thrust, she dodged round a parked car and landed on the pavement right in front of Elaine.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ shrieked Elaine, clutching her chest. She gasped and told the person on the other end of the phone she’d call them back.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ said Elaine, still breathing heavily.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Carrie.

  ‘I will be. It’s nothing. Despite what the doctor says.’

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘So you’re stalking me?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be necessary if you took my calls.’

  Elaine gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘Ah yes. I did get a message.’

  ‘Four, hopefully.’

  ‘Four?’ Elaine raised her eyebrows disingenuously as she lit a cigarette. ‘Must be important.’

  ‘Cut the crap, Elaine. I need to know what Emma Fox did that made you fire her from your company.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s what this is about.’

  ‘What was so bad? You said something before about her seriously fucking up.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s some confidentiality law about not disclosing staff behaviour.’

  ‘Please don’t make me beg. We’re two professionals. This business is built on shared info.’

  ‘Are you thinking of hiring her?’

  Carrie paused. ‘We already have.’ She considered; might as well swallow her pride. ‘She’s job-sharing with me.’

  Elaine stopped mid-drag, cigarette held aloft. It was the first and probably the only time Carrie had seen her discomposed, something that made the hairs go up on the back of her neck. It only lasted a second; then Elaine was back to her acerbic self.

 

‹ Prev