better! Sweetheart, that’s great news. I had no idea.’ He seemed genuinely pleased.
‘Me neither. I thought we were just friends. And now it seems as if it might be… you know, turning into something else.’ Hurrying to reassure him, Ellie said, ‘It’s very early days, though. He only told me on Saturday. Nothing’s happened yet.’ Way too much information probably, but she needed Tony to know she hadn’t been cavorting here in the flat behind his back.
‘Trust me, Jamie would want you to live your life.’
Hopefully he was right. ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘And no need to feel guilty either.’ Tony was perspicacious. ‘You’re not being unfaithful.’
‘I know.’ She dolloped a spoonful of rice on to her plate. ‘But it still feels funny.’
‘Bound to.’
Now that she’d started, Ellie discovered she couldn’t stop. ‘It kind of feels like an arranged marriage.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s just a question of getting used to the idea. So long as the basic attraction’s there, you’ll be fine.’
Hmm, that was the other thing she wasn’t so sure of. Was there a basic attraction? How could she even tell when she was this much out of practice? Since Saturday evening she had given it a lot of thought. Like the kiss itself, the prospect of becoming emotionally involved with Todd didn’t fill her with abject horror. Whereas if she turned him down, his feelings would be hurt. Consequently she had decided to go along with the idea for the time being. If nothing else, it would be nice to be part of a couple, to just feel normal again.
Well, relatively normal.
Anyway, take things slowly, see how they go. And at least she’d told Jamie’s dad now. That was one hurdle out of the way.
Their plates were both full. No longer even hungry, Ellie picked hers up and said, ‘Shall we go through?’
In the living room, keen to change the subject, she launched into the story of Kaye and Joe Kerrigan’s unsuccessful meeting with Zack.
‘It’s tough.’ Tony nodded in agreement. ‘You’ve got more chance of being struck by lightning than you have of getting a film made. In LA,’ he went on drily, ‘you’ve got more chance of being struck by lightning than you have of finding someone who hasn’t written a film script.’
‘This one’s really good, though.’
‘Thousands of scripts are really good. Tens of thousands.’
‘But they tried sending it to agents and film companies and they didn’t even bother to read the thing!’
‘That’s because they get sent thousands of unsolicited scripts. Literally. If they sat down and read them all, they’d never get anything else done. Sometimes they’ll look at the first page.’ He said this as if that made it better.
Ellie said frustratedly, ‘That’s so unfair, though.’
‘Like I said, it’s a tough business.’
She swallowed a mouthful of bhaji. ‘I know. It’s ironic, though, isn’t it, that so many films do get made and turn out to be crap.’
***
The next morning Tony was up early, packed and waiting for his car to arrive and deliver him to Heathrow. Carrying his cup of coffee through to the living room, he flicked through the jumble of newspapers and copies of heat in the magazine rack in search of something to take with him to read on the plane. TV Guide, nope. Cosmopolitan, not likely. Cheap-and-cheerful holiday brochures, no thanks. Argos catalogue, just kill me now. Then he came to the screenplay Ellie had been banging on about last night. At one stage she’d even pulled it out of the rack and tried to persuade him to read it himself. What she lacked in slick salesmanship she more than made up for with enthusiasm, but he’d retaliated by arguing, ‘Is there a part for me in this nonexistent movie?’ And when her face had fallen and she’d said, ‘Well, not really,’ he had replied, ‘So that would be like asking an alligator to be interested in a dandelion sandwich.’
Ellie had abandoned her campaign after that. Instead, they had watched The Apprentice on TV, made fun of the contestants, and chatted about his weekend in Wales with the cast of the upcoming Gavin, Stacey, and Two Smoking Barrels film.
Now Tony straightened and glanced out of the window. His car had pulled up outside. Fine, he’d pick up a few magazines when he reached Departures, but he could still do with something to pass the time on the way to the airport. A closer look out of the window confirmed that he’d yet again drawn the short straw on the driver front; Malcolm was