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6
Jack
I got off the bus outside the Royal Free and made my way up East Heath Road. Tom said it got busy around here in the summer, with all the tourists flocking to the heath, but in January it was quieter, the wind swirling leaves around my feet as I passed the pond on my right, people all wrapped up to walk their dogs, kids running wild in their wellies. All I wanted to do was flop on the sofa with a glass of wine and something nice to eat. There was a new recipe I wanted to try, a Mediterranean tray bake, the bonus being that it was all cooked in one dish and therefore would require minimal washing up.
I’d had a pretty productive day all in all – the casting, then I’d popped into the agency to see Chad. I’d reiterated the urgency with which I needed a decent role in something. Didn’t matter if it was a theatre run, a TV show or a movie. Obviously a movie would be amazing, but I wasn’t in a position to be choosy. Then I’d walked around town for a bit, gone down to the river, over to the South Bank, looked longingly at the National Theatre. Chad had said there might be something coming up there he could get me seen for, a Chekhov, which usually had massive casts and so there was often a chance for someone like me to get a small role with a few decent lines. I could ask casting directors to come and see me, then; they were always impressed when you said you were in something at the National.
Just as I reached the top of the hill and Marlowe Court was in sight, my phone rang. All afternoon I’d literally broken out in a cold sweat every time the phone rang in case it was Chad with good news about the Project Afghanistan recalls. I snatched my phone out of my pocket.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Barnaby. Can you come in? I’m short-staffed.’
My heart sank. Home was in sight. My sofa was mere metres away. ‘What, now?’
‘That OK?’
I sighed, thinking about my bank balance. ‘Yeah. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.’
I ended the call and slouched back down the hill, looking longingly back at my window on the third floor. I popped into M&S by the Royal Free to get a sandwich, because otherwise I’d only end up eating chips and crisps at the pub and if I did get that Netflix job, I’d need to be in the best shape of my life. The guy was a soldier, for god’s sake. In fact, I’d start an exercise programme this weekend, in anticipation of me getting cast in the role. Might as well remain positive until proven otherwise.
As I came out of M&S and headed up past the hospital towards Belsize Park tube, I spotted Rebecca walking towards me. She had on a red woollen coat and a grey scarf and grey ankle boots and her nose and cheeks were rosy from the cold. She looked quite sweet like that, all wrapped up like a Russian doll, her cosy-looking outfit belying the fact that she was actually as cold as ice on the inside. Plus it annoyed me that she’d had the foresight to dress sensibly given the threat of snow when all I had on was the thin parka I’d had for years and which had been on the cheap side to begin with and completely inappropriate trainers. I pretended to look busily into shop windows and then timed it so that I caught her eye as she passed, with enough time to acknowledge her without seeming rude, but not so far in advance that it felt weird. After all, the last time we’d spoken on my doorstep had been unbearably awkward, as had the only other time we’d spoken before that, the night she couldn’t find my parcel. I supposed I needed to apologise, but I kept putting it off.
‘Hi,’ she said, giving me a half-smile.
‘Oh, hello,’ I said, as though I’d only just noticed her.
We both hesitated, unsure whether to stop and chat or just carry on (which I imagined was the preferable option for both of us).
‘Coming home from work are you?’ I asked in an inspired attempt at conversation not involving mislaid parcels.
‘Yeah,’ she replied, stamping her feet. ‘Can’t wait to get out of this cold.’
I blew on my hands, rubbing them together. ‘They say it might snow overnight.’
She laughed hollowly. ‘Maybe I’ll get a snow day, then.’
‘Fancy a day off, do you?’
I wasn’t sure where that had come from, or why I’d asked her that.
She shrugged.
‘Listen,’ I said, thinking I might as well get it over with, ‘I’m sorry about the other night. I was very stressed out about something and I took it out on you.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’d have been annoyed, too, if I were you. I should have found the package for you and dropped it off sooner, even if I did have … a guest.’
I wondered why she was referring to her boyfriend as ‘a guest’ in a mysterious way, as though he was someone out of a period drama.
‘We got off on the wrong foot there, didn’t we?’ I said.
She smiled, the first one I’d seen. It made her look so much friendlier. ‘You could say that.’
A gust of icy cold wind cut through my jacket, giving me a chill.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to get to work. Better get going,’ I said.
‘See you,’ she said.
