Behind the Scenes

by Anita Notaro

  There was no answer and John Simpson felt guilty for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t kept a closer eye on things.

  ‘You know they can’t touch any of your personal accounts?’ Alex asked again.

  She mumbled something, too angry even to be thankful that she’d earned a decent income all these years. Libby had money, but nowhere near enough to keep her in the style to which she had so easily become accustomed. She’d grown used to the very best money could buy over the years with David, couldn’t even remember the last time she’d checked any of her accounts, or paid her own Visa bill, or for her holidays, or her car or household expenses. She merely used her personal account for bits and pieces, the odd face cream or massage: everything else had been paid for by him.

  When they hung up she wandered into his favourite room and cursed him but it was a very lukewarm rant.

  Next she sat down and made a list, her first real plan since David’s death. The most immediate conversation she needed to have was with her housekeeper. She waited until the woman was getting ready to leave for the day.

  ‘Mrs O’Connell, there’s something I need to talk to you about and I wanted to tell you before you go off on holiday on Friday.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to sell the house.’

  ‘I see.’ There was no shock or surprise on the worried face, just acceptance and resignation.

  ‘It will probably all take months, but I need to let you know so that you can start thinking about another job.’

  ‘Where will you live?’

  ‘I’ll buy an apartment, or a smaller house. This place is just too big for me now, and too expensive to run.’

  ‘Will you not need me?’

  Libby wasn’t about to tell her that she might not be able to afford her. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to you. I might only need someone for a day or two a week, it depends on the type of place I buy. I may even stay with Mum for a while,’ she lied easily.

  ‘I’ve worked all my life for Mr English’s family. I’d be happy to help you in any way I can.’

  ‘Well look, it’s a long way away. Meanwhile, you take your leave as normal and have a think about things. We can discuss it further at a later stage.’

  The housekeeper knew she was dismissed.

  Libby handed her an envelope with five hundred euros in it. ‘I don’t know what David usually paid you as a bonus, but I hope you’ll accept this from me, for your holidays.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her wages were paid directly into her account from David’s company each month and Libby hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed at the relatively small gratuity.

  ‘I wonder, before you go away, if you could arrange for George to spend a few weeks tidying up the gardens. I’ve neglected them badly, I’m afraid.’ She sounded as if she usually did the work herself, whereas ‘neglecting them’ simply meant that she couldn’t bear George cornering her every time she appeared, so she’d told the housekeeper not to have him around.

  ‘George hasn’t been well lately, but he’s given me the name of a good person who’s looking for work. He comes highly recommended.’

  ‘Fine, fine, perhaps you’d get him to start on Monday if possible.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Thanks. And would you mind ringing the decorator and see how soon they could call and have a look around and decide what rooms need freshening up and give me a date when they can start.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Thank you. And I’m sorry it’s come to this. I hope you understand.’ The older woman nodded.

  ‘Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow as usual.’ Libby smiled and disappeared, badly needing to be alone. She had a splitting headache. Refusing to give in just yet, she headed for her study with just one more job to do.

  ‘Hello Mum, it’s me.’

  ‘Elizabeth, darling, how nice to hear you.’ Things had been strained between them lately; all the warmth and easiness had gone from their relationship.

  Now they chatted about nothing for a while, until Libby baldly announced, ‘I’ve decided to sell the house, by the way.’

  Christina Marlowe was speechless.

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘I’ve talked it over with John and Alex and it makes sense. It’s too big for me now and besides, I need to start again.’ Libby hoped she sounded convincing.

  ‘I understand that but, Libby, you love that house.’

  ‘Things have changed. Anyway . . .’ she now wanted out of this, ‘I won’t be doing anything just yet. I’ll keep you informed.’

  ‘Why don’t you come over for supper tonight?’

  Not a chance, Libby wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment. ‘No thanks, I’m rather tired. It’s been a long day. I’m going to have a bath and go to bed.’

  ‘Well, why don’t I pop over to you and bring something with me? I have a delicious chicken casserole that Vera made this afternoon and I could bring—’

  ‘No thanks, Mum. I’ve already eaten.’ She was getting quite good at this. ‘Look, I’ll talk to you later in the week, I’ll phone you and we’ll have lunch.’

  There was nothing left to say. Christina knew her daughter wouldn’t discuss it any further. She said good night and hung up and wondered whether to ring John Simpson or Charles English or both.

  Libby heard the front door click just as she replaced the receiver and with a huge sigh of relief she kicked off her shoes and slowly rotated her head in circles in an effort to ease the tension.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  THE DREADED DAY had come for Annie. At the studio she got dressed and made up, then sat in her dressing room, thinking. She knew exactly how to play the scene: the problem was, could she carry it off without going overboard? It was a very fine line, especially given their history. She felt tense and her back ached.

  The first few takes went well and she relaxed slightly. The scenes in the restaurant, where Alan treats Bobby to an expensive meal, were not being shot until the following week, on location in a city café, so it meant that they had to go straight to the big one, where he takes her home and expects sex. It was the final scene in the episode and in the script Alan slaps Bobby and walks out, leaving her alone and vulnerable. Tim Furlong had talked through several ways of playing the scene with both actors and eventually they’d agreed that Alan would begin to unbutton Bobby’s blouse playfully and that she’d refuse, flattered but not wanting him to think she was easy. A well-written one-liner meant she would realize straight away that he already knew exactly what Bobby really was.

  Marc was clearly fine about it all, even teasing Annie about the slap, acting as if they’d never been close. ‘I don’t want to go in too hard, in case I break your jaw.’ He was all smiles, safely surrounded by other cast and crew. For the first time his accent irritated her.

  ‘Just do it as if you were doing it for real. I’ll be fine, but save it for the take, OK?’

  ‘Of course.’ Now he was the one to sound irritated.

  Just before the scene Max knocked on the door of her dressing room.

  ‘Sure you’re OK about the next one?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s just a difficult one to get right . . . you know.’

  ‘Well, as I see it she has great hopes for this relationship, which we all know is ridiculous, but she’s been through a lot lately and I think she sees him as a bit of a saviour. When it becomes obvious that he’s only being nice to her for sex, and that he knows exactly what kind of girl she is, she’s devastated. I think she would see what happens as the end of a dream, really, because if he knows then so do all the other men around, and that means her options are seriously limited.’

  Annie listened, knowing suddenly that she’d been resisting appearing too vulnerable, because of what had happened between them personally. Now she saw that that was exactly how she had to play it and it turned the whole scene around for her.

  ‘I also think you need to see this as one of the rea
sons she becomes so hard-nosed on the outside, yet much more fucked up on the inside later on, why she gets involved in drugs and puts up with beatings and general abuse from men. It’s because deep down she feels useless, has done since she was a child, and this episode with Alan finally finishes her off. So there’s an awful lot going on under the surface that the viewers have yet to discover about her, and this is your big opportunity to reveal all her hopes and fears, without really doing a thing. Do you understand that? It’s all built into her expectations for this relationship and her devastation when she turns out to be wrong, culminating in her ultimate humiliation when he slaps her. Also, you should know that it’s the first time the viewers will see Alan as having a bit of a nasty streak, and I think we’re going to take that further, depending on how this goes.’

  It all made much more sense and really helped Annie understand what she had to do.

  Just before they went for a take Tim checked that both actors were happy. Marc and Annie nodded. ‘Tim, I’ve probably only got one take in me for this one, so I’d really appreciate if we could make this the one, barring an emergency.’ Annie felt compelled to say it but still the request sat uneasily on her lips. She wasn’t used to being demanding.

  ‘Absolutely, I understand.’ She could already hear the floor manager telling all the seniors that this was a one-take scene. She really felt she could only give it her all once.

  ‘Remember, don’t hold back on the slap,’ she reminded Marc and he nodded and looked away quickly, as if sensing her vulnerability already.

  When they finally went for it she became putty in his hands, all girly and giggly, and when his motives became clear her huge eyes said what she couldn’t. She kept them glued to his face, pleading with her look, not wanting to believe that he was the same as all the others. When he sneered at her and called her a prick-tease it was shocking coming from the middle-class mouth that had once caressed every inch of her body in real life. All the edges became blurred for her as an actress and when he slapped her across the face it was the final humiliation for Annie as well as Bobby. Her jaw stung and her eyes filled up. When he left with a last look of contempt on his face she sank onto the chair and pulled her blouse together and touched the side of her face, biting her lip as the tears trickled out unannounced.

  It seemed an age until the director called ‘cut’ and Annie experienced her first round of applause in a TV studio. Everyone working on the scene had watched it very carefully and knew she’d given it everything. The crying was a bonus they hadn’t expected: the audience would identify with it and like Bobby even more. They’d finished on a big close-up of her stroking her supposedly bruised face – a perfect end to an episode filled with real drama. It was television at its most powerful.

  ‘That was brilliant, Annie, really well done.’ Tim Furlong was beaming. ‘What a performance, you were fantastic. Check it please folks, before anyone moves.’

  ‘Great stuff, Annie, you all right?’ Max came over and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Sensing something in her, he gave her a hug and she was able to smile even though she badly wanted to bawl.

  ‘That is going to be one of those great TV moments, I can tell you, you were terrific. Well done you too, Marc. You sparked off each other brilliantly.’

  ‘Well, we get on well together and it came across. I hope I didn’t hurt you, though.’ He was all fake concern, Annie thought uncharitably, thinking he looked remarkably relaxed and unfazed. She wondered if her pleading eyes had unhinged him but if they had he was a very good actor indeed.

  She was emotionally and physically drained and grateful it was her last scene of the day. As she strolled out into the daylight she bumped into Mike Nichols.

  ‘There you are, I was hoping I hadn’t missed you. I believe it went fantastically well.’

  ‘I think it went OK, yeah.’ His unfailing kindness made Annie want to burst into tears for the second time in minutes. She swallowed a giant boulder in her throat and felt very sad.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘It’s just that I still think I’m Bobby, I guess.’ She grinned at him. ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I’ll be fine in a few minutes.’

  ‘Fancy a drink and you can tell me all about it?’

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost five o’clock. ‘Are you not on till seven-thirty?’

  ‘Officially yes, but I could say you needed to unwind a bit.’

  ‘No way, I’m not getting into trouble. Max has already been babysitting me this afternoon.’

  ‘OK, then. Officially, I need to discuss something in the next batch of storylines. I’m not sure you understand where Bobby is going.’ He was grinning at her and she was grateful.

  ‘Actually, I’d murder a glass of cold beer and a toasted ham sandwich. Even a plastic one would be great.’

  ‘I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day. Stay there, don’t move. I’ll get my keys.’

  She did as she was told and Mike was back in an instant. They went to a quiet pub in the neighbourhood where they sat in a corner and ate thick-cut toasties with real ham and sipped their drinks. Annie relaxed. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  ‘Come on, I’ll do my last good deed for the day and drop you home.’ He smiled at her after she’d yawned for the second time in five minutes. ‘I know when my company is sending women to sleep.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s nothing to do with you. I haven’t been sleeping well these past few nights. I’ve been thinking too much about today.’

  ‘Well, from what you’ve said I can’t wait to see it.’

  As they strolled to his car, Mike asked, ‘Where did Marc go afterwards? Usually, he’d be the one dragging everyone off for a pint.’

  ‘I think he had another scene to do.’ She was glad he hadn’t joined them.

  ‘You’re right, he did have another one in the pub, the last of the day. Well, I’d say he’s feeling pleased with himself too.’

  Marc hadn’t given anything away to Annie, simply strolled off chatting to Max, without even saying goodbye. In one sense, his apparent indifference was easier for Annie to handle. When she’d looked into his eyes as Bobby, pleading with him to like her for herself and not simply as a prostitute, she felt she’d exposed all her own feelings of hurt because he’d used her and gone home to his real girlfriend.

  Amazingly, when she phoned Libby and blurted it all out, the other woman understood perfectly. They teased it out for ages and Annie felt in much better shape emotionally.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  LIBBY WAS AWOKEN very early on Monday morning by voices underneath her window. She was groggy, having taken a sleeping tablet to avoid another night thinking, and now she lay still, slightly disoriented, trying to imagine what could be happening.

  Eventually, heart beating faster than normal, she padded over to the window and looked gingerly outside, not sure what to expect. She heard what sounded like a radio but couldn’t see anyone. It took a moment or two to realize the sounds were of someone digging. Of course, bloody George was coming today. How dare he start working directly underneath her window? He knew exactly where she slept.

  Furious, she pulled on her dressing-gown and glided downstairs as if on a skateboard, glancing at her watch to discover that it was barely 7 a.m. She desperately wanted some juice or water but she needed to give the man a piece of her mind first. The absolute cheek of him! He’d always irritated her but now it was bordering on nuisance.

  She unlocked one of the french doors at the side of the house and bulldozed out, pushing her hair from her face and wondering if she should have dressed first, to give her more authority. Not worth it for George, she decided. Anyway, she was heading straight back to bed.

  She rounded the corner at breakneck speed and was in full flow before she realized the man was a stranger.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing at this time of morning, George, you know I don’t like to be disturbed and turn that—’ She screeched to a halt and looked
down at an unruly mop of long, dark hair that in no way resembled George’s shiny, bald patch.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  A pair of chocolatey eyes looked up at her. The man put down the small hand trowel he’d been using.

  ‘I’m the gardener,’ he said. His voice was soothing, like a honey and lemon drink on a sore throat. Unfortunately, she wasn’t soothable.

  ‘Well, that much I gathered. How did you get in?’

  ‘Your housekeeper gave me keys to the side gate.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I met her on Friday and agreed to do this job.’

  ‘She didn’t mention any of this to me.’

  He raised his dark eyebrows very slightly and looked at her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, but I hardly think that’s my fault.’ He said it in such a reasonable tone of voice that it was impossible to take offence.

  ‘You’re the person who’s going to tidy up the gardens?’ In the midst of the fog that was Libby’s brain, a faint recollection was dawning.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Libby badly wanted to tell him to take his awful, plastic, tinny radio and scoot, but she knew she needed this job done before she could put the house on the market.

  She took a deep breath and mustered her full height, holding her hair back with one hand so that she could give him the benefit of a glare that had sent many a TV technician running for cover. Her state of undress and general dishevelment detracted from the iron maiden image somewhat but she was too angry and too dehydrated to notice. Her mouth tasted sour and she ran her tongue over her teeth and stepped back to avoid him sampling her stale breath.

  ‘Fine,’ she spat, annoyed and frustrated at herself as well as him, but that–’ she jerked upwards in a vaguely two-fingered gesture – ‘is where I sleep and I do not want to be disturbed at any time. Do you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ It was just a bit too laid back for her liking and the faintest hint of a smile convinced her the man thought she was bonkers.