Callie blinked. ‘Does that ever work?’
Sam’s mouth quirked. ‘No. But it sounds nice.’
Then he was gone, swept away by his handler.
The lights dimmed fully. Crew voices echoed, wrapping cables, calling goodnights. Callie found herself alone, not quite ready to go into the mansion yet, clutching the silver key in one hand. In reality, it was really only nickel-plated, so she was allowed to keep it.
It looked like a prize, but it didn’t feel like one.
Two
The car crawled past the sign that still readWelcome to Westerleigh.It could have done with a lick of paint, or failing that, a pack of matches and some lighter fluid.
Callie pressed her forehead to the window and exhaled. The air outside was the colour of cement; drizzle clung to everything.
‘We’ll need a bit of B-roll of you getting out of the car,’ said Neil, in his relentlessly upbeat voice. ‘Then we’ll do your reaction shot to seeing your hometown again. Nostalgic, yeah?’
‘Nostalgic,’ Callie echoed, watching the drizzle turn to real rain. ‘Sure.’
‘It needs to givegenuineemotion,’ Neil pushed.
Callie smiled tightly.Genuine emotionwas precisely what had got her into trouble the last time she’d been here. Now she was back with a sound technician, two cameras, and a contract that forbade her from swearing on screen.
The car stopped outside her mum’s old terrace. The paint was still flaking on the doorframe, though someone had added a few cheerful hanging baskets. Hard to imagine Callie’s mother had done that. It had to have been the husband. Brian, she thought his name was.
Neil leant forward between the seats. ‘Right, Callie, this’ll be your walk-up. We’ll do a few takes of you arriving, looking around, soaking it all in.’
‘Soaking being the operative word.’
Neil smiled, but Callie could tell he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. It wasn’t in the shooting schedule. ‘Maybe you could say something to the camera, something that lets us know it’s great to be home.’
‘You mean, “It’s so great to be home”,’ Callie said dryly.
‘Exactly! But, you know… heartfelt.’
She stepped out into the rain, pulling her coat tight. The smell hit her first: damp stone, chip fat, and something sweet she couldn’t place. It took her a moment to realise. Bread. Freshly baked, wafting from somewhere a couple of streets away. Her stomach dropped. Of course the bakery would still be there. And if it was still there, thenshewould be too.
Neil called, ‘Big smile, Callie! Remember, this is the bit where the audience falls in love with you all over again!’
Callie managed something resembling a smile. The cameraman followed as she trudged up the pavement, trying not to step in a puddle. The smell of bread grew stronger.
She knocked on the door and waited a few seconds for someone to answer.
‘And cut.’
Callie turned surprised. ‘What?’
‘No one’s in, Callie. We’re just doing externals this morning.’
Callie turned back to the door in surprise. ‘They’re not in?’ She felt embarrassed that she hadn’t known that.
‘We’re headed to the high street now.’
‘High street?’ Callie said, alarmed.
‘Everything okay?’ Neil asked.
‘Fine,’ Callie lied. ‘Great.’
