206. The first location is out near Oxford, so I bomb down the North Circular, hoping that the hot policeman hasn’t kept my details on file. Then I remember he’s got the wrong ones and press my foot down wickedly hard on the accelerator.
Tragically, the costume team have to be on-set extra-specially early, all ready to get the cast suited and booted the moment they arrive. I’m gratified to find Gareth’s already marshalling our troops, sorting through outfits with literal gay abandon. I look at the call sheet nervously, desperate to know when Charles is due in. Not till 11.30, giving me a good five hours to practise the calm authority I’m desperately trying to summon up. Tarquin comes bounding over the moment he sees me, kissing me on each cheek as though we’re gay Parisians.
‘Lulu, I’m so glad you’re here. Day one is pretty grim, isn’t it?’
‘Isn’t it just?’ I say.
‘I’ve got the runner grabbing you a proper coffee. Step inside my trailer and talk to me about Charles Adamson’s tackle.’
Thank God it’s still dark: I know for a fact I’m an unattractive shade of violet. I talk him through my plans for the sea rescue, which we’re due to shoot next week, and he complains to me about our leading lady’s pretensions. Emily Hill is a 23-year-old beauty, way too aware of her own gorgeousness.
‘Six months out of “EastEnders” and she thinks she’s Dame Judi. She keeps banging on about how many meetings she’s had in LA, but I reckon the only meeting she had was with Dr Trout Pout MD.’
‘They are pretty pillowy,’ I say, laughing.
‘I can’t fucking bear actors,’ says Tarquin, and I find myself momentarily wondering why he’s chosen this particular line of work. ‘Sorry, Lulu, you make me disgustingly frank. Why is that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, stuck for an appropriate response. ‘I’d better get back out there – we’re knee deep in serving wenches.’
I hurry round the various caravans, making sure everyone looks immaculate. With so much to prove, I’m determined not to leave anything to chance. Before long, it’s scene one, take one, a shot of the maids preparing a feast. I allow myself to breathe out, glad that the train’s finally left the station. Now I’ve just got to hold on to the running board for the next few weeks. The scene’s from episode two, in which the Lamberts throw an elaborate party to celebrate Percival’s upcoming nuptials, little knowing that his heart belongs to another. Why is it that whenever I think about the plot I slip into sub Mills & Boon parlance?
Take after take ensues, with Tarquin desperate to capture the action from every angle. The producer’s a world-weary lifer, who’s been doing this job for years under increasingly difficult circumstances. There’s no love lost between her and Zelda: Zelda’s eternal quest for perfection is diametrically opposed to Suzanne’s determination to come in on budget, but they’ve known each other since the dark ages and share a grudging respect. Exasperated by the amount of takes that Tarquin’s insisting on, she drags me to one side.
‘Christ, Lulu, does he think he’s Orson Welles?’
‘He just wants to do the best possible job,’ I tell her, feeling protective of my fellow novice. ‘He’s super-committed.’
‘Been bonding, have you?’ she says wryly. ‘Are the youngsters planning a coup?’
‘I’m hardly an ingénue any more.’ Suzanne’s known me since I was a lowly dresser and never lets me forget it.
‘I’m well aware,’ she says patronizingly. ‘When is Zelda due back? She told me that now she’s designed all the costumes she might go to Rio de Janeiro to recuperate from the glandular fever.’
Rio de Janeiro? Glandular fever? Typical Zelda, never one to under-embellish. ‘Um, back soon, I’m sure…’ I say, at a loss for the best way to play the situation. If Suzanne knew how behind our department is as a result of Zelda’s illness, or how much is resting on me, she’d have kittens. Luckily her steely determination to keep the show on the road saves me from any more awkward questions. As Tarquin shouts ‘cut’ on his latest take, she strides over.
‘Right, moving on…’ she bawls, forcing him to settle for what he’s got and progress to the next scene.
We’re now only one set-up away from Charles’s debut. I imagine him halfway down the motorway and wonder if he’s as nervous about seeing me as I am him. Of course he’s not, I tell myself, it’s all in your head, but my heart refuses