‘Okay, fine, it’s a romance and it needs an epilogue.’
‘And a new title.’
‘A new title? Why? What’s wrong withWhere the Road Ends? Oh,’ I say, getting it. ‘That implies theydon’tend up together.’
‘Mm-hmm. But we don’t have to come up with it right now. The marketing team will want to have their say and…’
She trails off, eyes fixed on mine, and something twigs.
‘Are you saying you want to make my film?’ I ask, standing stock-still, as if any sudden movement might scare off the possibility that I’m right.
She nods at me, her expression earnest, and I gasp.
‘Delaney, I… I don’t know what to say.’
‘To be clear, Iwantto make this movie,’ she says, getting up and coming closer, ‘but you know how things go in this business, Nick. So, at this stage, there are no promises – well, there’s my promise to you that I will do everything I can to make this happen.’
Tears prick my eyes, and I impulsively reach for her, wrapping her in a hug. ‘Thank you.’ Delaney returns the hug, rising onto tiptoes, and a sob takes me by surprise. I laugh through the tears and release her, then step back.
‘Oh god – sorry,’ I say, wiping my tears and searching for a tissue.
‘Hey, don’t apologise. It’s an emotional thing when you’re brave enough to share something you’ve created and it resonates. It’s validation.’
‘It’s exactly that – and thanks for understanding. There’s not really anyone I can talk to about this.’
‘Not even Pippa?’ she asks, injecting a sour note into the moment.
‘Ah, no – not Pippa,’ I reply, leaving out that Pippa has never asked to read it. It’s not something we’ve discussed at length, but I’m fairly certain Pippa expects me to retire from filmmaking when we get married – filmmaking in any capacity. She’d prefer me to have a ‘normal’ job that means I’m home every night.
‘Sorry,’ I say with a sniff. ‘I need to…’
I excuse myself and go into the bathroom. I blow my nose, then catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’ve been Nick James, stunt coordinator, for more than a decade. How will it feel to be on set withScreenwriterstencilled across the back of my chair?
‘Bloody brilliant,’ I tell myself, breaking into a grin.
Delaney’s going to produce my film.
Hopefully.
I chuck the used tissue in the rubbish and return to the room. This feels like a cause for celebration – we should order a bottle of prosecco from room service. Only Delaney’s not here. I cross to the balcony doors and look out – she’s on the phone, twirling her hair and pacing again, only this time, she seems annoyed – or even distressed.
I probably shouldn’t be spying, but I care about Delaney and I have a good idea who’s on the other end of that call. The aloof boyfriend. I agree with Dan – he sounds like a right wanker. Not that I’d ever say anything to her – no need to squeeze lemon juice into an open wound.
‘How can you have doneeverything?’ she asks, her voice rising. ‘There’s a whole country to explore, Nicholas. Have you seen the geysers or the waterfalls?’ She listens, resting her back against the railing, and I duck behind the door so she doesn’t realise I’m listening. ‘Well, I would’ve thought that a guy whose dream destination was Iceland would want to see more than a couple of museums.’
It’s a fair point.
‘You’re damned right I’m pissed off…Because!This was supposed to be a romantic vacation with my boyfriend, but it all got fucked up and you’re there and I’m here and— I don’t care if that doesn’t make any sense. I’m pissed at you for not making the most of it. When are you going to be in Iceland again?’ she shouts. ‘Well, that’s the thing, Nicholas – witheverythingthat’s happened, you don’t seem to give a shit. You don’t give a shit that we’re not together, you don’t— Oh,really? Yeah, you seem all cut up about it. Fine. Yeah, you do that. Argh!’
I look around the door again, and she must have ended the call – her phone is by her side and she’s frowning hard at the tiled floor.
‘I can see you, you know,’ she says, and I sheepishly step outside.
‘Sorry – couldn’t help but overhear.’
‘He’s such a… a…’
‘Dork?’