‘Is it still unsolicited advice hour,’ I said, ‘or can I get back to work?’
Suzette shook her head in exasperation. ‘Carrie and I can cover the date card reveal, if you just want to tap back in for the actual group date. Take a nap, Murray.’
I didn’t. The number of texts on my work phone I needed to go through was still in the double digits.
However, I did make the short trek over to the crew trailer village, so I could have a shower and change my clothes. The water pressure in my trailer was shit, but it didn’t matter. I had too many other things on my mind to care.
The part of me that was a rational human being knew Suzette was right. I should probably talk this Lily situationout with someone. Laying it all out – telling the story for someone else – might help me make sense of it.
But who, exactly, was I going to talk to?
I had friends outside of work. Sort of, anyway. I’d drifted apart from most of them – between the ridiculous hours demanded by my job and the increasing number of them getting married and having children, we didn’t really see each other much – but I could probably still call one of them.
None of them had ever really understood what Lily and I were to each other, though. I’d cut ties with more than one person over the years for repeatedly saying things like, ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t nailed that girl yet.’
I could call Julia. She understood. She’d listen. But this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could talk about with your ex-wife, no matter how well you’d settled into post-divorce friendship.
I exhaled, letting the weak stream of water cascade over my head. The only person I’d ever go to with this kind of situation was Lily.
I didn’t notice the bottle on the table until I was dressed, hooking my radio to my belt and threading the wire of my earpiece back up my shirt.Good luck for the season! Thought you could use something ‘diverse’ to drink. Greg McD, the gift tag read.
I picked it up. It was Taiwanese whiskey.
Predictably, my eye started to twitch.
I pressed two fingers into my eyelid, sat down on my lumpy trailer bed with my head tipped forward until it stopped, popped two ibuprofen and sculled about a litre of water, and then headed over to oversee the group date.
The photo shoot was always a fiddly date to shoot. The concept was simple, but it was necessarily bitsy. Our limited crew numbers made it even more difficult: we didn’t have a) anywhere near enough hair and makeup people, or b) a photographer. However, we’d cobbled together a rotational schedule that kept things moving forward and deputised Saurav, who dabbled in still photography, to do his best. ‘Thanks for the chance, mate,’ he said to me, as the crew reset fromThe GraduatetoMy Best Friend’s Wedding.‘I appreciate it.’
‘No worries.’
I was paying maybe thirty per cent of my attention to him. Another twenty was on Romeo-Dylan, who’d emerged from wardrobe in black tie, looking every inch the perfect groom. He made eye contact with me, searching for affirmation. I gave him a nod and the friendliest smile I could muster.
The other fifty per cent, of course, was waiting for Lily.
I heard her before I saw her. ‘Why am I the bridesmaid instead of the bride?’
She stormed onto set, tail of her satiny lilac bridesmaids’ dress whipping behind her, making a beeline for Romeo-Dylan. ‘This is completely unfair!’ she said, grabbing at his lapels. ‘Why am I being cast as the villain?’
God, she was good. We usually had to Frankenbite a lot of our audio – take some out-of-context phrases and stitch them together to make a full sentence – but Lily could produce a perfect sound bite like it was nothing.
She looked at Romeo-Dylan and – were her eyes watering? ‘I know I went too far last night,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘I’m fiery. I’m passionate. All my life, people have been telling me that I’m too much. But I’m not a bad person. I swear.’
There was not a person on the planet who could have pitched it any better.
If all she gave was one-note cartoon villain, Romeo-Dylan would look foolish for not cutting her. She needed to add dimension: a reason to keep Lily Fireball.
I had no doubt she’d pinpointed his weakness as quickly as I had. Quicker, probably. Dylan Jayasinghe Mellor was far too kind for his own good.
‘Oh god, Lily, I’m sorry.’ Romeo-Dylan cupped her face in his hands. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘LilyFireball.’ Her bottom lip was quivering.
‘Lily Fireball. I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, sniffing. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘Do you want a hug?’
