Nine

The FaceTime ringtone trilled from Alex’s sofa as the apartment door closed behind her. With the determination of a Premier League goalkeeper, she flung her body across the sofa, arms outstretched, snatching the iPad hidden underneath a Time Out magazine. Her leap sent her keys flying across the cushions and the opened parcel in her arms—a care package from her brother Robbie in Florida—to the floor. Six packages of Twizzlers slid in all different directions on the hardwood. She pushed the iPad screen’s green connect icon, a smile racing through her freckles. “Perfect timing. I was just out with Lucy.” She straightened up, lifting the tablet to chin level as she wrestled one arm out of her coat.

Mark’s screen jerked abruptly, distorting everything in view like a funhouse mirror. A tall floor lamp appeared, then a blurry glimpse of his bare feet walking across burgundy carpet, and then a flash of charcoal-coloured curtains.

“Hey str—” Mark’s greeting crackled as the iPad’s picture continued to warp and lose sync with the audio. The camera sailed over a decorative blanket then the screen froze on a shot of his neck.

“Whoops.” Alex frowned. “It’s breaking up.”

She leaned forward, pulling her other arm free, and something sharp jabbed her bottom. She shifted and spied the bum pincher—her keychain, the one that matched Mark’s.

“Hello? Mark?”

The image released, revealing Mark propped up on a puffy white duvet. “Ah, there you are. I’ve waited five days to see that gorgeous face…sorry, Lex, the Wi-Fi here’s a nightmare. Did you get my texts?”

“You texted? No. Did you get mine?”

“No. Bloody mountains.” A smile brightened up his pasty complexion. “It’s so good to see you. I love you, Mouse. Here, there…everywhere, just like that old Beatles song.”

“Aw!” She smiled. “I love you, too, babe.”

“So, how’s Lucy?”

“Crushing on her flatmate, upset about kale.”

“Kale?” Mark rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“Don’t ask.”

“Sorry I didn’t call this morning. I did text…” Mark exhaled loudly and shifted backwards into a cloud of white pillows, plumped against the bed’s headboard. Deep creases travelled across his favourite Manchester United sweatshirt, the same top Alex stole on a regular basis. Random tufts of his hair stood up when he laid his head against a pillow. “I was working with the fight director at four-thirty this morning, and then filming started at six. Talk about COLD…”

Alex balanced the tablet on her thigh. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah. Only another week or so, and then I’m all yours for an entire weekend. I could lie in bed for days, but…” He raised an eyebrow. “I know you won’t let me.”

“Oh, I’ll let you. Whether you’ll get any sleep, well…”

Mark chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” She reached under her skirt and began pulling down her tights, a coquettish smile growing. “I know what might help—”

“Ah, I can’t, Mouse. Not tonight. If I weren’t so knackered, I’d be up for more than just a chat.” He winced as his hand crept underneath the stretched neckline of his sweatshirt.

Her shoulders deflated. Not tonight, not tomorrow—lately, sex over FaceTime or Skype was as rare as a play commission. No doubt Mark didn’t tell Freddie that.

“Our call time got moved forward tomorrow morning. Snow is forecast, and we’re riding horses again.”

“Mark, be careful—”

“I’ll be fine. I always am.” His heavy lids barely blinked. “So, tell me how the Garrick thing went.”

“It went.” Eyes watering, Alex looked down. “I didn’t get it. I’m not even on their radar.” She picked lint off the knee of her tights. “Sorry. I didn’t want to cry, but with all this, I wish you were here…” She rubbed her nose and glanced back up at the screen, but her boyfriend was frozen, one eye closed. “Mark?”

“Al—” His voice crackled.

“Mark?”

“Mo—se. I didn’t catch tha—”

“We’re stuck. It’s cutting out. Damn.” She scowled at his distorted image. “Can you hear me?”

Mark’s video blipped to black. Alex’s fingers scrambled to reconnect, but a new request to connect filled her screen.

“Hello? Hello? Mark?”

“Sorry Mouse. All good now?”

She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, but I didn…”

His picture flickered again.

“We’ve got a bad connection.” Alex sniffed. “Fuck!”

“What did you say?” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “You froze.”

“We’ve got a bad connection.”

He shook his head, annoyance creasing his forehead. “No, the Garrick. What did they say?”

Alex sagged into the sofa. “Try again.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. Looks like bad timing, that’s all.” He yawned through his words. “I’m proud of you, though. You’re handling it so well.”

Alex averted her eyes and picked at an imaginary thread on the sofa. “Yeah…”

“They’ve actually done you a favour. You’ll be free when the National calls in Upton Park, and you can give the Donmar project your full attention. When the Garrick sees those new plays, they’ll be begging for their own Alex Sinclair commission. You’ve got a real knack for writing strong female characters. They should be biting your hand off.”

She shrugged.

Mark bit his lip. “I’ve got something big that will have you singing the “Happy Happy Joy Joy” song—”

“I thought you said you were too tired—”

“No, not that.”

Alex scratched her head. “You’re bringing home chocolate?”

“It’s better than that.”

“Nothing’s better than that.” Alex broke eye contact.

“Well, this is. What if I told you the Promise Unspoken shoot is changing again?”

Alex gritted her teeth. “Urgh, Mark—”

“Wait, hear me out.” He leaned forward. “The location is changing. It’s been switched from Canada to Ireland.”

She caught her breath. “What?”

“Yup. Add the production’s senior accountant to our Christmas card list, babe. He’s our new best friend. Apparently, he convinced the producer that a move to Ireland would save tons of cash—”

Alex launched herself upwards with a jubilant squeal. She pictured running into Mark’s arms, his stubble riding that cheeky grin, his lips crushing hers, ecstatic to be together again. She bounced on the sofa, sending the tablet floor-bound. Mark got a good view of the ceiling.

“You okay?” He laughed. “They have to recast a few roles because of the change, and we’ll be stuck in front of a green screen a lot, but it’s worth it. I was dying to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t get a signal—”

“We so needed this!” Alex whooped, scooping up the iPad. Her shoulders felt lighter; the weight—the worry—of being without Mark for months while he played an 1840s Irish immigrant tackling the wilds of Newfoundland…gone.

“You can visit the set often, and I have several days off at Christmas, so we’ll be together. Obviously we can’t go to the States, but maybe Manchester? See your dad?”

“What about your mum?”

“Gracie’s taking her to Malta. They always go away over the holidays.”

“Oh, she’ll love that!” Alex beamed. “Dad will be thrilled! I’m so happy, my cheeks hurt.”

“Ha, yeah, I know. Can’t wait to have your step-mum’s bacon sarnies again. I can’t stop smil—” His image froze while his voice warbled into a garbled mess. “—be together—”

“Mark? What?”

“—regularly”

“Sorry?”

The picture distorted into low-resolution squares, and then Mark reappeared again. “You’re sorry?”

“No, the… I missed what you said.”

“The change means I can check in on Mum regularly, make sure all is well at the house.”

“Good idea.”

He yawned again and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Ah, I’m fading…”

Alex inhaled deeply. “I don’t want to let you go, but…” His screen locked again. “Looks like I have no choice.”

“Mouse?” Mark’s picture came back to life. “Best to wrap up before this thing crashes for good.”

“I love you, Mark. Call me tomorrow?”

“We’ll be in the mountains, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me first thing. When we’re back here, I’ll let you know I didn’t lose anything important to frostbite.” He winked. “I—”

The screen went dead.