What They Do in the Dark - By Amanda Coe Page 0,66

know what she’s like, especially if you bung her, I don’t know, fifty quid.’

Hitching his trouser legs to prevent creasing, Hugh leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers low between his open legs, as though cradling the large, fragile sphere of Mike’s ego. ‘I have a suggestion.’

He’d worked it all out: they could use the school. Mike began to object, but Hugh fended him off until he’d got to the end. The fucking couple (necking and fondling perhaps, instead) could be the teacher (no extra actor fees) and another teacher used in a playground scene (non-speaking, a genuine bargain). They’d tag the scene on to the end of a day already in the schedule – no extra set-up, job done, time and money saved. Then, before Michael could voice his artistic objections, Hugh segued into his opinion that this would perhaps be a less conventional and more unexpected view of adult sexuality, compared with the humping teenagers, which he felt as though he’d seen – and he appealed to Quentin here – before. Oh, Christ, he was good. Why hadn’t he come? It was the least she could do.

‘I love what you’ve got here, Mike,’ said Quentin, with maximum sincerity. ‘This is just a way to build on it. Because what you gain with the teachers is the girl seeing kind of adult authority compromised by, uh, sexuality. The violation of a really crucial boundary. Which helps with the Dirk stuff, maybe.’

This took all of them by surprise. She appeared to be talking Mike’s language. Fluent artistic bullshit. Who knew?

‘Why would she see them,’ asked Mike, as a last resort. ‘In the school?’

‘She drops something, leaves something, goes back for it …’

Hugh suggested Mike sit with it until the end of the day, when extra pages would have to be issued. Quentin admired the provision of this small pit stop for Mike’s dignity. By now Mike’s driver was hovering in the dazzling doorway, ready to take him to the set, so they said their goodbyes. Alone, Quentin and Hugh sat back and exchanged smiles of professional complicity.

‘What a team,’ said Hugh.

Then Quentin had another thought. It came on her like nausea. Three barrels.

‘Wait up, hasn’t he railroaded us anyway? We’ll still have to pay overtime on that shooting day, even if it isn’t Sunday and a whole different set-up and all.’

‘Darling …’

Of course, what kind of schmuck was she? It was a set-up: Mike and Hugh waiting for her, the boys together. The pages were the pup they’d sold her so she’d jump at the second option, which was actually their first. She could imagine the conversation, Hugh’s languid assurances that he could play her, she was crazy about him, poor girl … Quentin’s father took over.

‘We don’t have room in the budget to go over, you know that, not even a couple hours. We’re really not going to move on that, Hugh, I mean the guys in the studio. No deal. It happens, it’s coming out of your pocket somewhere, OK? Or you can talk to the Wops and see if they’re feeling generous.’

He palmed that hair of his. Had he gone into detail with Mike? Mike would love the detail, she knew. Fucking shitty bastards. You put a guy’s cock in your mouth, he thinks he can put his cock in your mouth.

‘Oh, absolutely. Received and understood, darling. But as long as Mike sees it’s in the schedule, he’s happy, and we know that makes everyone else happy. When it comes to it, I very much suspect it’ll drop off the end of the day, don’t you?’

God knows, she wanted to believe him. He was another producer after all, one of her tribe, on her side, the side of restraint. If it was true, she could be herself again, maybe. She ventured a look straight at him. Right here, right now, Quentin knew she needed to take something for this goddamn hangover. He gave her the old Hugh smile, the one you could eat with a spoon. She couldn’t make any calls before she felt better, that was for sure.

I GO TO see my dad the day I know Pauline is meeting Lallie. I walk out of the door, telling Mum and Ian that I’m going out to play, and keep walking all the way back to our real house. I don’t catch the bus. I want to feel the distance. Getting to our street, fear clenches that the house won’t be there, that I’m walking