Chapter Six

I could have sworn the tire was okay when I got into the car, but I hadn’t even reached the end of my road before I could tell it was flat as a pancake. Maybe it had been flat and I just hadn’t noticed. That was possible, I supposed. I’m not always the most observant person.

Still, I had a spare so I set about changing it.

My little Renault Clio only needed little tires. Unfortunately, on the rather rough country roads, they were prone to puncture about once a year. Well, maybe every eight months or so.

I had nearly cried the first time it happened because I hadn’t thought to get breakdown cover. I hardly drove anywhere. But I didn’t cry. Instead, I got the manual out of the glove compartment and taught myself where to put the jack, etc. Only once it was up on the jack did I realize that I should have loosened the nuts while the tire was on the ground to stop the wheel turning. I knew that for next time—and indeed this time—to make up for my lack of upper body strength I would need to stand on the end of the tire iron to loosen each nut before I raised the car up.

As I swapped the punctured tire for the spare I could see the problem for myself: a nice, shiny, silver nailhead sat among the tire treads.

All told, it probably didn’t take more than fifteen minutes. After a quick hand wash with a wet wipe, I continued on my way. I decided not to buy a card or flowers, feeling that perhaps the tire had been a sign, so I just did my usual weekly shop . . . plus bought a delicious-looking carrot cake.

When Tom and Diane got back the next day, I gave them a couple of hours to unpack and unwind before I went over, cake in hand as a welcome-home offering, which Diane gladly accepted.

Tom was tetchy, but Diane explained that the balloons made it hard for him to get comfortable. She made him raise his trouser leg to show me. He had balloons behind the leg on the thigh and calf, as well as on the front, both above and below the burn. Finding comfortable positions, especially in bed, wouldn’t be easy.

“A little birdie told me that you were having the operation today,” I teased Tom. Mary from the newsagent’s had told me that’s what her gossip magazine said.

“Ah,” he said, which I took to mean that this wasn’t just idle gossip.

“We fed Evelyn the wrong date,” Diane explained.

“I wasn’t in the mood to face photographers,” Tom said.

“So you’re still together then?” That thought was rather disconcerting. I knew it was ridiculous to even ask, because Tom and I were only friends.

“I’ll go make us some tea,” Diane said, beating a hasty retreat.

“In name only,” Tom told me. “Right now it’s handy having someone that the media trusts who can feed them misinformation.”

“What will you tell her when she realizes she’s been duped?”

“If she realizes it, I’m just going to say that the doctor had a last-minute cancellation and I jumped at it.”

Yes, that might work.

“Hasn’t she wondered where you were the last few days?”

“We’re not even texting much anymore. She thinks I’m depressed, and that really isn’t fun for her.”

“Are you depressed?”

“A little.” He shrugged. “Nowhere near as bad as I make out when she phones.”

I didn’t know what to say to that and floundered for a minute. I’m sorry you feel depressed? I’m sorry your girlfriend is betraying your privacy in the crassest way possible? I’m sorry you don’t have the balls to break up with the mercenary bitch? Okay, that’s a little harsh. I couldn’t really blame Tom for not wanting to get into a major confrontation while he was recuperating. I decided to change the subject.

“So does it hurt?” I asked curiously, gesturing to his leg.

“No, not really. It felt sore after they did the first fill, and it will be each time it’s topped up, but it’s not painful, just uncomfortable sometimes. And itchy.” He grimaced.

“Can you still go for walks?” I held my breath; I’d really hate to lose our daily walks.

“It’s encouraged,” he assured me with a warm smile. “It’s going to feel very odd once there’s a decent amount of volume in the balloons, but keeping mobile is good for it.”

Wonderful news!

“So,” he said, sitting more upright. “I’ve had some time on my hands. I did some Internet surfing and I found somewhere not far from here that rents out studio space for artists. It seems like a good place for you to work in. The rates seem reasonable, so I booked an appointment to go and see them the day after tomorrow.”

“You didn’t have to do that!”

I liked that he’d been thinking about me.

“I know.” He smiled.

“How much?”

“Well, that’s the great thing. You don’t need to rent a studio for a month or more, you can just hire it for a day. They also have a lot of equipment there that you can make use of, like backdrops.”

“Sounds perfect,” I agreed. I’d been thinking a lot about the photos I wanted to take. I had it all planned out in my head.

“Great.” He grinned at me, and I swear that my heart stopped for a second when I saw how happy he was that he’d pleased me.

“What about you? Have you given any thought to a project you want to pursue?”

“A lot of thought.” He sighed. “No answers, though.”

“Well, would you like to try writing?” It seemed a perfect fit for him.

“I’d love to,” he admitted. “I just can’t think of anything to write about!” He shrugged with a rueful grin.

“Okay, so how about directing?”

“Well, if I were able to write something, I thought I’d see about directing it.”

“But without a story, you’re stuck.” I nodded, understanding.

“Exactly.” He sighed again.

“You couldn’t buy the rights to someone else’s story?”

“Oh believe me, there are hundreds of books I’d like to adapt. One, they’re too expensive to gamble on. Two, they’d all need to be full-length features to do them justice. Three, with costs like that, no studio is going to hand production over to a director with no experience.”

“No way at all?”

“If I even had a short film under my belt, although not likely, there’s a chance I’d be given a shot. There’s no chance they’ll bet on someone with zero experience.”

“So we either need to find you a story you can write or a short script.” I wasn’t about to let him give up so soon.

He nodded.

“Well, what about the New Playwrights’ Showcase? Each play is short, so easier to make. They’re all by new playwrights, so they’d probably jump at a chance to see it made into a short film.”

“Hmm . . .” He considered my words. “A play won’t translate directly to the screen, but it shouldn’t need too many changes. Plays also don’t rely on visual effects, which makes them cheap to film.” He nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea. I wonder if I can get a look at the scripts before the show?”

“I don’t see why not. I think the head of the committee is Sandra. But if not, she manages the theater, so she’d know who to speak to.”

“That sounds like a brilliant plan.” He smiled at me happily.

We both had a plan all right. Butterflies fluttered uneasily in my stomach at making a commitment to try—and possibly fail. I hoped I could keep my nerve for long enough to see mine through.

***

The studio space was perfect, right down to having a wet room—in other words, a studio with a center drain so the floor could be hosed down—which was perfect for my water pictures since I’d need somewhere to empty the tank.

They also put on exhibitions a few times a year, which I was welcome to enter my work into, the center’s manager had explained. I wasn’t at all sure I was ready for that, but maybe one day.

My camera is secondhand but good quality, a treat I bought myself when I moved here. I knew that it was up to the job. I’d ordered a large glass tank, about the size of those large saltwater fish tanks you sometimes see in restaurants but twice as tall so the top rim wouldn’t appear in my pictures.

I practiced changing my camera’s shutter speed and looked up various tips and tricks for photographing movement online.

Tom came with me the first day so that he could lob the stones—clear glass paperweights—into the water while I shot the ripples they made.

I also had my laptop with me so I could transfer images from the card directly to the computer and see them on a larger screen. It took a few tries to find the perfect shutter speed for high-definition shots, but I got there!

Natural light didn’t offer very good results. While the artificial lights worked better, they weren’t great either, so I changed to a black background. That also didn’t look good because there wasn’t enough contrast.

“Why don’t you try adding a little color to the water?” Tom asked.

I hadn’t considered that. After a brief hunt, I was able to scrounge up some watercolors. I added some blue to the water, just enough to tint it. Against a white background, it looked amazing.

We tried a number of different-size stones and hitting the water at different angles to produce different splashes. Then I added some red to the water to give it a slight purple tinge and took more pictures.

The tank could be emptied from a stopper in the bottom. We opened it, and the water ran straight to the center drain. Although I didn’t want a permanent studio, I had become a member of the center for a small fee because not only did that reduce the room hire rates, it meant I got a little storage space so I could leave the massive tank there.

Tom hadn’t been for his walk yet; since he’d had to stand for a while, we planned to wait and see how he felt when we were finished.

“Thank you for all your help,” I said as we cleared up.

“My pleasure.” He smiled brilliantly at me.

Tom hadn’t mentioned the show again, so on our way home I asked him about the scripts he’d received from the New Playwrights’ Showcase.

“There’s one I’m really interested in, actually,” he enthused, turning in his seat slightly so he could better talk to me, his face lighting up as he spoke. “It’s really simple. Just an elderly woman talking, a one-woman show if you like. The writing is so powerful, it just . . . well, I’ll let you read it and you can see for yourself. Or maybe you should see it for the first time on stage? I don’t know.”

“When do you think you might be able to film it?”

“Not until after New Year’s.” He sighed. It seemed like a long time; we were still in October.

“Inside Man comes out in December, and I’ve got to do some promotion for that before I can really get into a new project.”

“Will you be okay to go?” I asked, worried about his leg pain and his skin expanders.

“I’ll have to be. They’re making as many concessions as they can. I’ll pretty much be driven everywhere, but it’s going to be a long three weeks.”

He looked tired already.

“Three weeks?”

My stomach sank. I realized I might have been getting addicted to our daily contact.

“It would normally be four. They’ve cut down as much as they can. I’ll do the UK and Europe, the US, and China. They’re letting me sit out places like Australia and the other Asian countries.”

I could imagine how hard that would be. Strange beds, international flights, jet lag, to say nothing of needing to wear smart suits for the premieres. Mostly Tom wore sweatpants and T-shirts, although I’d seen him smarten the look with a proper button-down shirt occasionally.

“Do you have to go to the premieres?”

“I do. Most of them, anyway. The larger ones.”

“Can you just duck out after the red carpet?”

“After the first few, I will,” he assured me with a sigh as he turned to look out of the passenger window.

“You sound like you hate these publicity tours,” I probed.

He thought for a moment before replying.

“It’s more of a love-hate relationship. By the time the first premiere comes, I’ve usually seen at least a rough cut of the movie, if not the finished product. At the premiere, that’s the first time I get to see how other people react to it. Sitting there, watching people as they gasp or laugh, there’s no feeling like it! I even enjoy the preceding interviews. I’ve had to be tight-lipped about the project for about a year or more by that time, and finally I can talk about it. What I loved, why I chose to do it.” He sighed. “By the fifth premiere, in the fifth country, answering the same question for the fiftieth time, it’s lost most of its appeal. I know publicity is necessary and I try to stay upbeat and keep it in perspective but . . .”

“But when you’re in pain, that’s so much harder,” I finished.

“Exactly. I’m looking forward to the London premiere but, truth be told, I’m dreading everything after. I know it will only get worse, especially with this damned leg.”

I didn’t know if I should make the offer I’d been thinking about or not. Darren had laughed at and derided my offers of help, which always made me hesitant to put myself forward. I knew Tom wouldn’t laugh at me. It might still be a bit too forward of me, though.

“Look, I don’t know if this is too much or . . . uh . . .” I took a deep breath and tried again. “You probably have an assistant and stuff to run around and help you, but if you wanted, I’d be happy to go with you.”

“I . . . uh . . . I let him go, actually.”

“Him?”

“My PA,” he explained. I could have kicked myself for not following my own conversation. “I knew I’d be down for a while, and he was making contacts in LA. It only seemed fair to let him move on to bigger and better things.”

“Oh?” That little flicker of anticipation in my stomach began to hum.

“But I couldn’t let you take all that time out just to follow me around. It’s not right.”

“Oh.” And just like that, the hum of excitement died.

“But—forgive me if this is too forward—I’d love it if you’d come to the London premiere as my guest?”

“Oh!” And just like that, I was buzzing again! I was probably grinning like a loon.

“Mum’s coming too, so you could keep each other company while I do the boring red-carpet bit. Then we can watch together.”

Okay, so not the date I might have wished for, but wonderful nonetheless.

“Is London the first premiere?”

“It is.” He smiled at me. “You’ll be my test audience.”

I parked my car a little way down from my house as the road narrows there. Getting out of the car and collecting my camera equipment gave me a chance to think. Technically, and as far as anyone knew, Tom wasn’t single. Honestly, I didn’t want to be seen on his arm and appearing in Heat magazine. That was not my thing at all!

Going with his mother, however, whom I knew went to some of his premieres but didn’t walk the red carpet, sounded like an excellent compromise. I could be there to share his big night and still remain in the background.

“I’d love to, thank you,” I said as we walked along the lane.

“Great. I’ll reserve you a ticket.” He sounded genuinely pleased.

The butterflies fluttered in my middle once more—only for a good reason this time.

***

The rain not only signaled the very end of summer, it also stopped our daily walks for the best part of a week. Tom had a treadmill in the house for just such an eventuality. Although I offered to keep him company, he refused.

He did pop round afterward however, for coffee and cake.

I still kept my Friday appointments with Diane. Since Tom and I were friends now, we’d resumed meeting at her house. Tom often poked his head in, but he didn’t stay.

Diane was heavily involved in the village—far more so than I was, although I’d often help her when she needed it.

“I don’t know how to put this,” Diane said one day as she sipped her tea. “But Neil has received some complaints about your conduct in the lifeboat shop.”

“My conduct?” I may have sounded a little screechy. God, this could not be happening again!

Then I remembered why it happened the first time—Alice and her friend, the Tall One. They still followed us on our walks sometimes, although they always kept their distance. Whenever saw them when I was alone, they would glare daggers at me.

“He’s received complaints about you being rude to customers and giving the wrong change.”

I huffed, unable to believe this could happen twice—and with a volunteer job! How could you get fired from a job you weren’t paid to do? This was a new low, even for me.