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‘It’s fine, I’ve got it,’ I told him.
‘Right, reset and let’s go again,’ said the director, looking pissed off.
Seriously, I felt as though I was being manhandled through some sort of cattle market for all the care and attention I was getting.
‘Action!’
I took a deep breath, quietened my mind and channelled Peter Walsh.
‘Your parents are on their way.’
Thankfully my ability to successfully say six words triggered something in me and once the scene began to flow, I relaxed, following my impulses, becoming the character. I thought only of the girl in front of me, of how she’d been in my care and I’d let her down, of how her parents were going to demand answers when they arrived and how that could spell the end of a career for a new teacher like me.
We did the scene three times in total, and eventually the director said we’d got it and instructed the crew to reset. Nobody looked at me, already onto the next thing.
As I made my way back off-set, it felt as though something was pressing hard on my chest. I’d got what I wanted: a TV job, a decent amount of money. So why had the whole thing left me feeling so empty inside?
‘Good job,’ shouted the director, looking up briefly from his monitor as I walked past with my head down so as not to disturb him.
‘Oh, right. Thanks,’ I said.
I felt much better after that. He wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t meant it, would he?
Striking whilst the iron was hot, as they say, I called Chad.
‘Who is this?’ he said, which was his usual response when answering his direct line. It always put me on the back foot. I let myself fantasise about how Alistair might answer my calls if I signed with him, which was becoming more and more tempting with each day that passed. Chad might have got me this role, but it was only because he happened to be going to dinner with someone from the show and I’d basically harangued him into putting me forward.
‘It’s Jack. Maxwell,’ I said, in case he knew multiple Jacks, which he probably did. It was hardly an unusual name.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be on set?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Just wrapped my scene,’ I replied.
‘How did it go?’
‘Good. The director seemed pleased.’
‘Excellent.’
‘I was just wondering whether we could get some momentum going off the back of this,’ I said, slipping my arms out of the polyester V-neck jumper they’d put over the shirt at the last minute. It had indeed looked very quintessentially teacher-y. ‘Get me seen elsewhere in the BBC. Let them know I’ve just worked well on this.’
Chad hesitated.
I pulled the jumper over my head, trying not to move my phone too far away from my ear in case I missed what he said.
‘Are you telling me how to do my job, Jack?’
Fuck. ‘Course not. It was only a suggestion.’
Was my request really that unreasonable? And I knew, knew, that Chad would not make calls about me off his own back, no matter how much he might pretend otherwise.
‘If I were you, Jack, I would focus on what you’ve got coming next. The whole point is that you’ll be inviting people to see you perform at the Soho Theatre. That will have much more of an impact than me making a few phone calls.’
I sighed. ‘Fine. Just thought I’d ask,’ I said. I shouldn’t have called him. I’d been on a high after a minuscule amount of praise from the director, as though I was craving his approval like a needy child, and then Chad – as usual – had gone and knocked me right back down again.
I made the decision there and then that I was going to email Alistair. It was time to take control of my own career instead of being at the mercy of Chad, who clearly couldn’t give a shit.
I walked slowly up the stairs to the flat, stopping outside Rebecca’s door. I wanted to see her, to tell her about my day, how badly it had gone at first, but then how I’d turned it around. Plus I’d offered to go through her presentation with her. Sometimes acting skills could come in very useful for actual real-life situations.
I was about to knock when I heard voices inside. I stopped, my knuckles inches from the door. I stayed perfectly still, listening. There was laughter. A man’s voice, an American twang. Great. Mr Perfect was back on the scene, then. Seriously, what did she see in him (other than the money, the status, the smooth patter and the gym-honed abs, that was)?
I felt gutted. There, I’d said it. I’d thought there was something between us and even though it was unexpected and not something I’d necessarily wanted to get into, I’d been excited to see where it might go next. More than anything, I’d wanted to kiss her again, but clearly I should have known better. I wasn’t good enough for someone like her. She didn’t take me seriously. I wasn’t relationship material. If I was a lawyer like Dom, I might have been.
I slunk back to my door, opened it and kicked it shut behind me, not caring if they heard.
