Take Two (A psychological thriller)

Carolyn’s heart began to race. ‘Do you know what they’ve got planned?’ she asked.

Jeff took a long pull on his cigarette and then shook his head as he held the smoke deep in his lungs.

‘Interesting times,’ she said. Actually interesting wasn’t how she felt. A writers’ meeting at the network suggested something was going on behind the scenes and, after what Kelly had said about Andrea’s part being expanded, Carolyn was starting to get a very bad feeling about what was going on.

‘You know, I’m a big fan,’ said Jeff.

Carolyn looked over at him, wondering if the writer was making a pass at her, but he was watching a pigeon sitting on the car park wall.

‘I bet you say that to all the actors,’ she said.

‘I’m serious,’ said Jeff. ‘You really come across well on screen. You seem real, even though I know you’re acting. I mean, I really believe in Diana Bourne. You totally bring her to life.’

‘I tend to get good dialogue,’ she said. ‘That makes it easier.’

He grinned. ‘And I bet you say that to all the writers.’

She chuckled. ‘Did you used to watch the show before you came here?’

‘I watch all the soaps and most of the dramas,’ he said. ‘You have to. You have to know what’s going on, where the plots are heading.  That’s what the network people don’t get.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They don’t watch TV. I mean, they watch the shows that they make, but they don’t sit down and watch it. They don’t connect with the viewers. In fact, truth be told, they hate the viewers.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Most of them hold the average viewer in complete contempt,’ he said. ‘In the evenings they’re in restaurants or wine bars or dinner parties. They’re not sitting down and watching Corrie or Holby City.’

‘They told you that?’

‘They didn’t have to,’ he said. ‘TV isn’t entertainment for them. It’s a way of making money. End of story. They don’t care about the craft. Or the characters. The only shows they care about are the ones that make money.’ He dropped what was left of his cigarette onto the ground and stamped on it.

‘You sound pretty fed up with it,’ said Carolyn.

‘It pays my rent,’ said Jeff. ‘So I can’t complain. I’m writing a couple of plays. That’s what I’m really interested in. I want to be able to sit at the back of a theatre and see how my work affects people, you know? See if I can make them laugh and move them, and be a part of that.’

‘I love the theatre, but there’s no money in it,’ said Carolyn.

‘It shouldn’t be just about the money,’ said Jeff.

Carolyn smiled ruefully. ‘How old are you, Jeff?’

‘Twenty-four.’

She nodded. ‘You’ll feel differently when you get older.’

‘I hope not,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get back inside.’ He took out his phone and checked it was off. ‘I won’t be making that mistake again,’ he said.

Carolyn dropped her cigarette butt onto the floor. ‘Nice talking to you,’ she said.

‘And you,’ said Jeff.

‘Can I ask you to do me a favour, Jeff?’

‘Sure.’

‘If there’s anything said at Wednesday’s meeting that affects my part, can you tell me?’

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you worried?’

‘I just don’t want any nasty surprises, that’s all.’

‘They wouldn’t do anything to Carolyn Bourne,’ he said. ‘You’re the star.’

‘I hope you’re right, Jeff. Okay, I need to get my face and hair done for the next scene.’

‘Break a leg,’ he said, and held the door open for her.

CHAPTER 8

Filming finished at just after five o’clock. Jake Harrington gave a short speech thanking everyone. ‘The early finish is because I’ve got to go to the Soap Digest awards tonight,’ he said. ’Hopefully, we’ll pick up something and, if we do, I’ll make sure everyone knows it’s a team effort.’

‘Just bring us back a few bottles of champagne!’ shouted one of the electricians.

‘I’ll do that,’ he said. ‘And please, everyone, nice and early on Monday morning. We’re a bit behind.’

Carolyn hurried out of the studio and down to the make-up department where Tracey was waiting for her. She dropped down onto one of the chairs and Tracey stood behind her. ‘Up or down?’ asked Tracey, playing with Carolyn’s hair.

‘Down,’ said Carolyn, but Tracey had already piled her hair up on top of her head. ‘No, you’re right. Up.’

‘What are you wearing?’

‘Terry’s got me a Stella McCartney.’

‘I love her stuff,’ said Tracey. ‘And she’s so animal friendly. Now, what do you want me to do with you?’

‘It’s got to be glamour, but I don’t want mutton dressed as lamb,’ said Carolyn.

‘As if,’ laughed Tracey.

‘I’m serious,’ said Carolyn. ‘I don’t want to see any nasty captions in the papers tomorrow.’

‘You’re in safe hands,’ said Tracey. She spent almost half an hour working on Carolyn’s hair and make-up, and by the time she’d finished Carolyn was well pleased.

She turned her head slowly from side to side, admiring Tracey’s handiwork. ‘God, you’re good,’ she said.

Terry appeared at the door, holding the dress. ‘OMG,’ he said. ‘You look fabulous.’