‘Obviously,’ says Gareth, clocking my horrified expression. This will be the first time I’ve seen him since the face-stroking incident and I look like shit. I’ve tied my unwashed hair into an unflattering ponytail so I can go full-steam ahead with the straighteners later, and my combat trousers make me look like I’m touring with an All Saints tribute band. ‘Is that a problemo?’
‘Of course not.’
‘OK, sorry I spoke. It just seems like you’ve got some bizarre issue with the poor man.’
‘Well, I haven’t. In fact, I’ll go and talk him through his wardrobe right now.’
Big mistake. Now I’ve made such a big deal of it I’ll have to go straight there, with no chance of a covert rummage in the wardrobe bus for a less hideous outfit (although getting wedged in the door of his caravan in a crinoline might prove to be the most embarrassing faux pas so far). Walking towards his caravan, I decide I’ve got to shoot for an air of cool indifference. The face stroking may have been nothing more than thespy chumminess and, even if it wasn’t, he’s got nothing to offer me but a world of pain.
I rap sharply on the door, give him a crisp hello, and hide my lower half behind the door as I rattle out the various elements of today’s wardrobe like a round of machine-gun fire. Charles stares at me, expression unreadable, unable to get a word in edgeways. As soon as I see him I can feel myself melting inside. I’m desperate to tell him my officiousness is no more than a strategy, but I know I’ve got to try and resist the poisoned apple.
‘So that just about covers it,’ I tell him, sixty-second monologue complete. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Are you horribly busy today?’ he says, cocking his head endearingly. He’s looking a bit scruffy in his washed-out jeans and crumpled shirt, but it only adds to his appeal. His clothes look so thrown on that it seems as though he could throw them straight back off again without a second’s thought.
‘Yes, very,’ I tell him emphatically, determined to make a run for it before he sees my bizarre garb. Even if he were consumed by lust, I can’t imagine any man wanting to peel off these combat trousers. ‘Let’s catch up later,’ I add, determined to ensure that we don’t.
‘Lulu!’ he calls after me. ‘Can I grab you for a sec?’
There’s no escape. I slink round the door sheepishly. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he says, taking in my peculiar look. If I hadn’t made so much effort up till now, it wouldn’t matter. I must seem like such a loser: no one with a sniff of love in their life would be dressed like this on Valentine’s Day.
‘Have you got something that needs sewing?’
‘I haven’t been storing up mending for you!’ he says, laughing. ‘I wanted to give you this for your house-warming.’ He pulls out a bottle of champagne with a flourish. ‘To say thank you for being the one person who makes this job bearable.’
‘Oh!’ I say, blushing stupidly. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know, but I wanted to.’
‘Thank you, Charles,’ I say, a little too heartfelt. ‘Of course, if you want to come…’ Why did I say that?
‘I wish I could,’ he says ruefully, ‘but there’s bugger all chance of me slipping the domestic leash. You’ll just have to think of me when you drink it.’ He’s giving me the bottle, keeping hold of it a little too long so that our fingers wrap around it, dangerously close.
‘OK, it’s a deal,’ I tell him then mentally lash myself for overstepping the mark.
I force myself to leave before the heat’s turned up any higher, and spend the rest of the day hiding out in the wardrobe caravan working on the look of later episodes. I feel like I’ve drunk a vat of coffee, all jittery and distracted, a state which makes me miss Zelda all the more. She’d know there was something wrong and a dose of her tough love would instantly shake me back to normality. Instead I’m lost in a mental maze, one minute excited, the next desolate.
At six I decide it’s time to quit, internally awarding myself the prize for slacker of the year. The shoot won’t wrap till at least eight, but if I carried on working in my keyed-up state the parlourmaids would end up in latex bondage gear