The Temp

by Michelle Frances

  Carrie went over to the recycling bin and plucked out the letter. She held it between her fingers for a moment. So much harm this girl had done to her family; really she should just tear it up. But . . . a small part of her couldn’t settle. She wanted to know. The kettle still wasn’t ready and so she ripped open the envelope.

  Carrie,

  If you’re reading this, then we haven’t been able to speak and I therefore haven’t been able to convince you of how sorry I am.

  There is something, though, that I’d like you to know, and which may go some way to explain my recent failures.

  When I was in my second year at university, I already knew I wanted to work in television. I wanted to be a writer and came up with an idea that I planned to send to you, as someone I admire greatly, in some fantastical hope that you might see merit in it and advise me – perhaps even help me take a step further in my dream career. I was incredibly nervous about contacting you for all sorts of reasons, but mostly for fear of you not liking the idea and that I would ruin any future chance of working with you. So instead, seeing that you were married to a screenwriter, someone I saw as an ally, I decided to write to Adrian. I sent him my proposal and outline about a mutiny in a secondary school, along with a note asking for advice on contacting agents.

  I never heard back from him. Instead, a couple of years later, I discovered he’d taken my idea and sold it to the BBC under his own name.

  A few weeks ago, Adrian caught me searching his office at your beach house for my original letter, which I have now retrieved. I enclose a copy here. I was so panicked, I did a very foolish thing so that he wouldn’t realize what I was doing there. Something that I now regret with all my heart.

  You may wonder why I’m writing this. Part of me wants to explain my actions. Another part of me hopes that one day you might be able to forgive me.

  Yours,

  Emma

  Carrie heard footsteps come down the stairs and quickly stuffed Emma’s letter back in the envelope and into her pocket.

  ‘Everything OK?’ asked Adrian.

  She gave a quick nod and realized the kettle had boiled some time ago. ‘Just making tea,’ she said, pouring water into the mug.

  He got himself some more wine and then turned to go back upstairs.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he said.

  ‘In a minute.’ She watched him go, deeply disturbed by what she’d read.

  FIFTY

  Friday 12 January

  Carrie claimed exhaustion again, an easy enough pass to get out of Adrian’s company and be by herself as she’d done it countless nights before. She lay on the bed they’d chosen together several years ago, staring up at the shadowy ceiling, conscious of Rory snuffling beside her in his Moses basket.

  Carrie tried to think back to when Adrian was developing Generation Rebel, tried to remember what he’d been like when he’d got the idea. It had been quite sudden, she thought, and she remembered the frisson of excitement she’d felt when he’d told her. It had been different from anything he’d come up with before and she had been immensely proud and had known with her gut producer’s instinct that it was fresh and brilliant, and that Elaine would likely get a commission. She remembered also being relieved; he’d been trying with several ideas over the years, all good but not quite good enough.

  The subject matter had been a surprise to her. Adrian had had an uneventful schooling, had never really shown an interest in those years. In all their time together, he’d never once spoken to her about wanting to write such a passionate piece. And the characters, they’d been so much of their time, people who were youthful, contemporary. None of it had seemed like a natural fit.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have made it up.

  Carrie turned over on her side, unable to sleep. There was, of course, the very strong possibility Emma had fabricated this whole story. Some kind of revenge for losing her job. But . . . she didn’t believe it somehow. Carrie was suddenly reminded of something Emma had said. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Something about Adrian not being as good as he thought he was. It had infuriated her at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure. Goosebumps rose up on her skin under the duvet. She stiffened, remembering something else. The texts. She tried to remember exactly how they were worded. ‘Tell her it was my idea’ – was that it? Maybe it hadn’t been about Emma launching a new show with Adrian but to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

  Nothing was what it seemed and Carrie felt as if she was losing a grip on the very fabric of her life. Facts that she had taken for granted were crumbling without warning.

  She suddenly had a thought. There was one person who might know more about this: Elaine. She was the one who’d worked closely with Adrian all those months on Generation Rebel. Carrie resolved to go and see Elaine first thing on Monday morning. It was a conversation that needed to be had face to face.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Sunday 14 January

  It was a relief to Emma to be alone in the house. Alice and Brian were in Milan for their last weekend of checking over the villa renovations before they moved out there. As soon as they’d left for the train to take them to the airport, Emma had inwardly collapsed. She’d got very drunk on Friday night on a bottle of wine from her father’s cellar and had woken up with such a hangover on Saturday, she’d barely left her bed. Instead, she’d looked around the room thinking that soon it would be someone else sleeping there, hanging their clothes in the fitted wardrobe, fixing their pictures on the walls.

  Emma still had to pack. Her new flatmate, Lucy, was expecting her in less than two weeks, and under any other circumstances, Emma would have been excited to be moving in. But Lucy knew nothing of her current unemployed status and a condition of the lease was that she had a job. The thought of getting up every day and pretending to go to work, as she had done for her parents, was utterly exhausting.

  Her stomach churned with anxiety and she curled up in a ball to try and squeeze it away but couldn’t relax. It was a fear that plagued her, day in, day out. It entered her dreams and woke her at night, leaving her writhing with trepidation. She had a sense she was moving steadily towards the edge of a very tall cliff and was unable to stop herself going over.

  She glanced at the clock. Her parents would be home in ten hours and then the whole farce would start all over again. She momentarily contemplated telling them the truth, coming clean about losing her job, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear their looks of disappointment.

  Emma had sent emails to several TV companies to ask if they were currently hiring, but no one had got back to her. She was beginning to think word had got out already, that the long arm of Adrian’s dismissal had tainted her. Employment seemed like an impossible goal.

  To add to her woes, Emma hadn’t heard from Carrie. The letter she’d left for her had been mostly truthful, but she couldn’t bring herself to say how Adrian had threatened her. She was too ashamed.

  Emma had tentatively hoped that what she had written would have made some difference. Adjusted the way Carrie thought about her. But it was a lost cause. Either Carrie had read it and it had had no effect or she’d just thrown the letter away without opening it.

  Unable to stand the sound of her own thoughts any longer, she jumped out of bed. By the time she’d showered and had something to eat, the winter sun was making a brave attempt at breaking through the grey clouds. She decided to get out, walk on the common, even though she was beginning to despise the place, so often had it been her prison when she was exiled from her own house in her pretence of going to work.

  As she crossed into the common, the sun was claiming victory over the sky and Emma saw the year’s first snowdrops clustered round some of the trees. With the sun came more people. Their company cheered Emma to begin with, but then she became aware of how everyone was wrapped up in their own business. Families with children, groups of teens listening to music and countless couples, arms entwined, gloved hands clasped together. No one took any notice o
f her.

  She forced herself onwards. She’d go down to the lake and then turn round and head home, although she didn’t want to consider what she’d do once she got back to the quiet, empty house.

  She could see a family with two small children feeding the ducks on the lake, but they finished as she approached and then she was the only one there. She looked out at the lake, at the ducks swimming through icy patches in the blackish water, then walked alongside the edge, feeling lonely and a bit foolish, until a little dog suddenly ran up and fell in beside her, its tail wagging happily. Surprised, she stopped, and the dog stopped too. She smiled and bent down to stroke it, laughing as it put its paws on her knee. Then she stood and carried on walking. The dog followed.

  ‘No, little dog – you need to go back to your owner,’ she said.

  The dog looked up at her and seemed to want to stay with her. Its friendliness lifted her spirits. She scratched it behind the ears and had a vague notion she might have seen it before. She looked up to see if she could spot who it belonged to, and then from behind some trees, she saw a face she recognized, dragging on a cigarette and looking her way.

  Emma stared at her, the woman who’d got her sacked, who’d told Carrie about her stupid, nauseous mistake with Adrian.

  ‘Go on, little dog,’ she said softly. ‘You need to go back now.’

  The dog lay down at her feet.

  Emma watched as Elaine started to head her way. She should turn and go, but she felt rooted to the spot, watching as Elaine grew ever closer.

  And then suddenly she was right in front of her.

  ‘I hope Monty hasn’t been bothering you,’ said Elaine.

  Emma glanced down at the dog lying contentedly beside her. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘We only came out for a bit, thought the fresh air would do us both good. I haven’t been feeling too well. Been stuck indoors all day catching up on work.’

  Emma nodded at Elaine’s forced small talk, grains of resentment building in her throat.

  ‘Right,’ Elaine said brightly, clearly keen to get away. ‘Those scripts aren’t going to read themselves.’ She whistled for Monty, who stood, and they started to walk off. Emma watched, anger building as she saw Elaine head back to her life, one with work and purpose and scripts to read.

  She stepped forward and put her hand on Elaine’s shoulder. Elaine turned in surprise, nearly losing her balance.

  ‘Why did you tell Carrie about Adrian and me?’ asked Emma.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t,’ snapped Emma.

  ‘I have no idea what—’

  Emma was suddenly overwhelmed by a bright, explosive fury, like a star, full of hot, dangerous energy.

  ‘You are lying to me. You couldn’t keep your bloody mouth shut, could you? Did you enjoy it? Talking about me behind my back, gossiping? Have you any idea of the damage you’ve done? You’re nothing but a mean, poisonous old woman—’

  She stopped abruptly as Elaine clutched the top of her chest and seemed to sway. Then, dramatically, she fell to the ground.

  Emma’s mouth opened wide. What . . . ? She suddenly realized that Elaine appeared to be in great pain and uncertainly knelt down on the ground next to her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  Elaine couldn’t answer, but it was the look on her face that scared Emma, a look of terror and raw fear. It galvanized Emma into action and she was suddenly at her side, with no idea what to do, clutching Elaine’s wrist in an attempt to check for a pulse, the only thing she could think of.

  The dog was barking madly now, distraught at seeing its owner in distress, and Emma started to scream for help. She grabbed Elaine’s hand and shook it, but there was no response. Her eyes were unfocused. Frantic, Emma placed her mouth over Elaine’s and blew in panicked breaths. Suddenly there were people beside her: a man, who pushed her aside and began to administer regular chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth, then a woman, taking her own coat off and laying it over Elaine’s still body. Emma could only watch in horror. The crowd had grown quite big by now, and then the sound of sirens, green uniforms running across the grass with a stretcher. They dropped it beside Elaine and took over from the man giving first-aid. More air was blown into Elaine’s lungs. A defibrillator was pressed against her chest and jumped her off the ground, once, twice, three times.

  Emma was suddenly aware she was chanting under her breath, her hands clutched to her head: ‘Please, please, please, please, please. Please, God, please . . .’

  After an indeterminable amount of time, the paramedics sat back on their haunches, exhausted.

  A few faces in the crowd turned away. Some had tears running down their cheeks. Emma saw a policeman approach her.

  ‘Did you find her?’ he asked.

  She looked at him, too shocked to answer.

  ‘She did,’ said a voice, the man who came to the scene first. ‘She was screaming for help, trying to resuscitate her.’

  ‘Do you know this lady?’ asked the policeman, subtly indicating Elaine on the ground.

  Terrified, Emma gave a barely perceptible nod.

  He lowered his head respectfully. ‘I’m very sorry but your friend is dead,’ he said gently. He wrapped a blanket round her shoulders that had been handed to him by one of the paramedics.

  Still stunned, Emma looked across at Elaine’s body, stretched out on the ground. Everyone was shocked into a hushed state, except for a woman, who let out a soft sob every now and then, and Monty, who was howling beside his mistress.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Monday 15 January

  Carrie had debated whether to call first, but in the end had decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood to be given the runaround again. This was too important, too serious. Of course, by just turning up she ran the risk of Elaine not being in the office, but it was first thing, only nine thirty, so chances were good.

  She buzzed the entrance pad on the Soho street and heard the door click open. Carrie walked along the hallway and suddenly heard the sound of crying. Perturbed, she continued to the small, green reception room and was taken aback to see Leanne, Elaine’s assistant, in tears. A policewoman stood by her side, a comforting arm round her shoulders. A young girl, whom Carrie recognized as the runner, stood awkwardly nearby, and two other staff members were sitting at desks, silenced, with stunned expressions on their faces. All looked up as she came in.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Carrie, an ominous sensation beginning to stir in her stomach. She looked around the room, but it seemed normal. ‘Have you been burgled?’ she ventured.

  Then it suddenly struck her that one person was missing.

  ‘Where’s Elaine?’

  ‘That’s all I know,’ said Carrie, looking at Adrian and Liz’s dumbstruck faces. ‘She collapsed at Wandsworth Common sometime yesterday afternoon and died of a heart attack. There, at the scene apparently.’

  Adrian was looking at her, appalled. ‘I can’t believe it.’ He shook his head.

  A knock came on the office door. It was the third assistant director. ‘Script query on set,’ he said, unsure when he realized he’d interrupted something.

  Liz stood. ‘I’ll go. You give yourselves a few minutes. I’ll call if I need you.’ She left with the assistant director, closing the door behind her.

  Carrie was suddenly hit by an incredible sadness. She looked out of the window down to the lot, which was as busy as ever, boasting the highest concentration of walkie-talkies for miles as people walked with purpose, full of the importance of their productions. A plane flew overhead, on its way somewhere with its hundreds of passengers, each with a different story, a different place to be. Life everywhere was still carrying on. Except for Elaine. Elaine was dead.

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  She looked up, had almost forgotten Adrian was in the room. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What were you doing at Elaine’s office? This morning.’

  She stared at him blankly. Knew s
he didn’t want to explain, not yet. ‘She had some CVs for me.’

  He frowned. ‘Crew?’

  She murmured something indistinguishable. Could have been a ‘yes’.

  ‘Why didn’t she email them?’

  ‘DVDs as well. Showreels.’

  He looked at her. She didn’t like his scrutiny, broke his gaze and looked out of the window again.

  ‘A friend of hers was there,’ she said quietly. ‘Saw her die.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Adrian. ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t know. Policewoman didn’t know,’ she explained. ‘Imagine that. Watching someone you care about die in front of you.’ She shuddered. ‘I feel for them whoever it was.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  Monday 15 January

  ‘So you saw her collapse?’ Detective Sergeant Bryant was looking at her across the coffee table with his unusually pale blue eyes. Emma forced herself not to break his gaze, although she could feel the terror bubbling away inside her, threatening to burst through, and if it did, she knew she’d become hysterical.

  ‘Yes. I was out for a walk. We were just chatting . . .’ She suddenly had an image of Elaine’s stricken face and felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She dropped her gaze, and looking at her lap, inhaled deeply, again and again, managed to get the panic under control.

  ‘Take your time,’ said DS Bryant, and the younger male police officer who sat beside her on her mother’s pale grey sofa nodded in agreement. This was just a formality, they’d said. They always took a statement after a tragic event like this, but Emma couldn’t help feeling as though she were under suspicion. It was the guilt; it invaded her on every level. She felt pickled by it.