‘We will! Bye!’ She flashes another grin, waves over her shoulder, and strides off down the pier.
I let her get ahead of me so we’re not doing that awkward thing where you saygoodbye, then keep walking in the same direction.
Also, my stomach’s still queasy, so I scan the waterfront for somewhere to stop. Plenty of choices, and once she’s out of sight, I stroll to the nearest restaurant and sit at a table facing the marina.
Seconds later, a waiter appears and I haven’t even glanced at a menu.
‘Erm,il piatto del giornoand, ahh…’ His expression doesn’t change as I debate whether to order wine. Is it supposed to be good for nausea or not? Maybe beer’s better.
‘E da bere?’ he asks when I hesitate too long.
‘Peroni,perfavore–enaturale,’ I add quickly, thinking I should hydrate.
He nods and leaves, returning with bread in a basket and a bottle of still water. I thank him, then crack it open and take a drink, not bothering with the glass. I feel better already – but that could be because the rocking has stopped.
‘Not bad, James,’ I tell myself, impressed at how easily my Italian has come back. It’s been several years since I’ve been in Italy – and that was on a filmset with mostly Brits, so I didn’t get much practice in.
I sip the water, observing the next boatload of tourists to decant onto the pier.
I’ve been an avid people-watcher for as long as I can remember. It fascinates me, immersing myself in the lives of others, imagining what’s on their mind, what they want out of life and what’s keeping them from getting it.
Terrific fodder for writing screenplays, which is what I really want to do. Just another frustrated screenwriter in a sea of them. Half the people making films have a screenplay tucked away in a drawer somewhere. I have three.
A young couple disembarking from a ferry draws my attention. She’s pouting and shouting and tossing her hair and he’s grovelling as he struggles with their luggage. She stops, gesticulating wildly, and even though I can’t hear a single word she’s saying, it’s obvious she’s spoilt –andthat he’d do anything for her.
At the end of the pier, they head off – presumably to their hotel – and I smile to myself, glad I never got caught up with a woman like her. Instead, I’ve been with Pippa for nearly twelve years now.
We met in our late teens – our parents became best friends the year her family moved to Weybridge – then we didn’t see each other for years. I was at the London Film School and Pip was getting her qualifications in early childhood studies up in Edinburgh.
Then, at a barbecue at Mum and Dad’s the summer after we finished uni, we… uh…reconnected– twice. Once in the greenhouse amongst Mum’s orchids, and the second time in my room. It’s a good thing I have three older brothers – all married and two with toddlers by then – meaning our absence went unnoticed. Well,mostly. Mum definitely knew what we were up to, but she was not-so-secretly pleased.
Pip’s a good egg – down-to-earth, clever, kind…
I take out my phone and fire off a quick text to say I’ve arrived, even though she probably hasn’t landed yet, then check my emails.
I sit bolt upright when I read the name at the top of my inbox. Saira Qureshi – the most coveted screenwriting agent in the UK. She’s had one of my screenplays for a few months now – my passion project. We chatted at a wrap party a while back and when I mentioned it, she told me to send it over. I emailed her the next day, and this is the first I’ve heard from her.
The waiter sets down a bottle of Peroni and a tall glass but I barely register it, instead focused on the email. I open it.
Dear Nick,
Thanks for sharingWhere the Road Ends. It’s a really thoughtful screenplay, with well-developed characters and dialogue that should play well onscreen. And I did not see that ending coming.
Oh my god – she loved it.I swallow and read on.
Unfortunately, it’s a pass from me.
‘Well, fuck,’ I mutter aloud, my stomach plummeting. I read on even though I’d rather eat glass.
There’s been a swing away from thoughtful two-handers and I don’t think I can sell this right now. Maybe a couple of years ago but the market has shifted. I’m sorry. But do reach out with the next project – I’d be more than happy to take a look.
Best,
Saira
This isn’t the first rejection I’ve had, and I doubt it’ll be the last. But it still stings. And it always seems to be about timing, rather than the screenplay itself. It’s either too edgy and no one wants to take a chance on it, or it’s too similar to something that’s already in production. Now it’s passé. Have I missed the window entirely?
Maybe it needs another revision. It’s been long enough since I’ve touched it that I can look at it with fresh eyes. But then again, most creatives I know say variations of the same thing: if you tinker too much, you risk losing what’s special about it.