Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“I’m sure I’ll find a few minutes,” I say, knowing that being Wilson’s right hand, I have the power to insert myself into that studio for the entire day if I want to.
“Aye?” Laurence looks excited as he hands me a mug of tea with the perfect milk to water ratio. “Good.”
The next moments play out rather robotically, at least on my part. Laurence returns to the couch. I follow his lead, moving slowly, tentatively, analysing his every action, every expression. We appear to be chatting. Nothing more. Nothing less. Laurence controls the conversation initially, while I offer awkward answers filled with hesitation and stutters. We keep it light-hearted. Benign. I don’t notice it happening, the shift in the atmosphere, but eventually we’re knocking back cups of tea and blethering on like we’ve been friends for years.
Laurence asks me about being an electrician, how and why I got into it, and I can be honest on that front. I suspect I go on for a little too long about UK safety regulations, but he takes it all in. Wide eyed and smiling. Never once makes me feel boring or less than. We talk about Laurence’s career for a while. He reminisces over the early days, tells me about some projects he’s been involved in that he wishes he could erase from existence. At some point we literally end up talking about the weather which, somehow, isn’t the slightest bit tedious.
It's…nice.
Easy.
Effortless is how he’d described it earlier, and I agree.
I’ve no idea what time it is. There’s no sign of a clock. There’s not much of anything, really. No photos. Artwork. Nothing personal that would imply Laurence Cole held any kind of association with this trailer, minus his name on the door outside.
“Another?” Laurence asks, holding out his empty mug.
Glancing toward the table, I see just how many empty mugs there are. If I say yes, this would be my fourth cup. “Shit.” Panicking, I start patting down my pockets, feeling for my phone. I must’ve been here hours. “What time is it?”
The screen is black when I retrieve it from my back pocket. I jump to my feet, drag a hand down my face. “It won’t turn on. Forgot to charge the bloody thing.”
“It’s almost six,” Laurence tells me. His forehead creases, concerned by my reaction.
Six! How the hell have I lost so many hours? “Becca must be going out of her fucking mind. I’m supposed to be at home.”
I forgot to call her. Forgot her, full stop. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Do you have a charger?”
“Yeah,” Laurence says, standing. “Or you can use mine.” He holds out his phone. “It’ll be faster.”
I don’t dither, taking it straight from him after he unlocks it with his face. “Thanks.”
Becca answers on the first ring. It’s six in the morning. She must’ve been waiting. Shit. “Hello…” The word trembles in my ear.
“Becs, it’s me. I’m—”
“Oh, thank God. Where the hell are you?”
“I got asked to stay at work. I meant to call you. I got busy, then my phone die—”
“Are you being bloody serious?” she yells so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. Self-conscious, I turn away from Laurence and start walking to the other side of the trailer. “I thought you were lying dead on the M1! For God’s sake, Will! I called the hotel. I even tried calling the bloody studios but just got bounced from one nightguard to another.” I think she only stops because she’s ran out of breath. Her voice is strained. Angry and sad at the same time. She’s been crying, I think.
“It’s okay, Becs. I’m okay. I’m so, so sorry.”
I decide to shut up, let her breathe, calm down. I don’t like imagining her being upset and alone. I should be there, holding here. Yet I’m here…with a man. Which would sound innocent enough if my hand wasn’t still tingling from his touch.
“So, where are you? I know you’re not at your hotel,” she says after a minute in a less irate yet still pissed off tone.
“I’m at work. There was a big fuck up with the cabling running the power network through the wardrobe department, and the team’s short with that bug I told you about. We’ve been working through the night to fix it before filming restarts tomorrow. Well, today.” I’m both surprised and ashamed by how easily I’ve just lied to my wife. The words rolled off my tongue so smoothly, without thought or resistance. And there’s no way Laurence didn’t overhear, didn’t witness how deceitful I am. “I really am sorry.” That much, at least, is true.
The softening sigh I receive in my ear offers little comfort. She’s about to forgive me, to understand. And I’m going to let her. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says. “You can’t do that to me again though, Will. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. Another hour, and I was going to call the police.”