But the scene is good – the whole screenplay is good. If only I could convince someone to take a chance on it.
It’s in the back of my mind that Delaney’s a producer – of course it is. But considering our situation and that we’re practically strangers, I wouldn’t want to bring it up out of the blue. That would be out of order –impolite, even – and I could burn the opportunity. If it comes up organically, fine. If not, I’ll find some other way to get it back out there.
I stare at the screen, the letters swimming as my mind chews on something. Maybe it needs a tonal shift – an injection ofdanger. What if they got caught up in something illegal and they’re on the run for most of the film?
I ponder this, seeing several scenes play out in my mind’s eye, but it’s all wrong. The film says what I want it to say as is.
I’ve just closed my laptop when Pippa calls – good timing on her part, but I’m not sure what to say to her. Especially as she doesn’t know thatIknow about the wedding.
‘Hey, Pip,’ I answer with forced cheeriness.
‘Hi,’ she replies, curter than usual. ‘Any news?’
For a moment, I have no idea what she means – what news? – but then I get it. She’s asking if there’s any progress on me travelling to Iceland.
‘It’s not looking good,’ I reply. ‘Pretty much everything south of you and north of me is at a standstill.’
‘Fuck,’ she says breathily.
It’s worse than I thought – Pippa rarely swears and when she does, she’ll say ‘bugger’ or ‘bollocks’, or if she’s feeling particularly pissed off, ‘shite’ – a favourite from her time in Scotland. But then again, she did plan a wedding that won’t be going ahead.
‘Nick? You there?’
‘I’m here. Sorry, Pip, I know you had your heart set on this holiday,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. I’ve given her the perfect opportunity to correct me, to tell me that this isn’t just a holiday gone awry –andthat our families are in Iceland – but she doesn’t.
‘Isn’t thereanyway you can get here? Any way at all?’ she pleads.
‘I don’t see how, Pip,’ I say gently. ‘I’d have to convince someone with a boat to take me to the mainland, somehow get myself to Bari, then take half a dozen flights east, flying all the way around the world and approaching Reykjavik from the west.’
There’s a beat, then, ‘Can’t you do that then? You could be here the day after tomorrow.’ Like Dan said – she’s postponed a day, assuming I’d find a way to get there. ‘Please, Nick,’ she adds.
God, I hate that I’m not there – not to get married, but to sort this out.
Was it misguided planning a surprise wedding? Absolutely. But Pippa’s heart is bigger than all of Europe and she’ll have done it out of love.
Only I am not going to try to get to Iceland for the day after tomorrow. Even if I wanted to get married in two days, which I don’t, there’s no way I’d make it in time. The journey I described, with all the connections and wait times, would take several days – atleast. And it would cost a mint –farmore than we can afford. If it was even possible.
‘I’m sorry, Pip, but I doubt that would work.’
She sniffs, and I wish I could reach through the phone and give her a hug. ‘Okay,’ she says eventually, her voice small.
‘You’re going to take advantage of being there, right?’ I ask brightly. ‘See the sights?’
‘I s’pose.’
‘Hey,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood, ‘don’t forget, according to True North, this is your dream holiday.’
‘And southern Italy is yours,’ she says drily.
Delaney and I had the same realisation yesterday, so it makes sense that Pippa’s thought of it too – another layer to excavate when we return to London. I’msonot looking forward to that conversation – especially if she doesn’t tell me about the wedding and I have to confront her.
What a fucking mess.
But there’s little I can do about it now, so I’m going to follow my own advice and explore Capri.
‘Try and have a good day, Pip. Send me some pics from Reykjavik, yeah?’
‘Okay. Bye, Nick. Love you.’