NATE
25th November
Things are crazy on set. I thought Hallmark movies were supposed to contain minimal drama and maximum happiness. Clearly, my co-star, Olivia Hansen-Lovett, didn’t get the memo. She’s playing Sasha, the long-lost love of my life.
The woman is a diva, if ever I met one. A ridiculous diamond-encrusted beret balances on top of her perfectly coiffed long dark hair. She’s buttoned up to the neck in an ivory fur coat that she’s done nothing but complain about for the last three hours we’ve been filming.
It’s not like I’m super fond of the cashmere jumper they put me in, but let’s get the fuck on with it. I swear, at one point, Olivia actually stamped her heeled foot on the faux snow scene, set against the background of Ballybowen’s historic Newbridge Castle.
The stage production team have erected an elaborate water feature, a sixteen-foot Christmas tree, and thirty white silhouette reindeer fuelled by enough electricity to actually power a real-life magic flying sleigh.
The area is cordoned off to the public with nothing more than a little flimsy plastic tape around the three-acre perimeter, but there’s not a soul to be seen anywhere, anyway. This place is open in the summer like a National Trust park, but this time of year, the entire village is desolate.
The press will eventually get wind of this flurry of activity. Paps will be crawling around before we know it. Most of the actors and actresses have been assigned private rental properties to avoid being hounded. If the cat gets out the bag, so to speak, it’ll probably be my fault for checking into the only hotel in the vicinity.
But what choice did I have?
Stay in bed with Holly that morning?
If she wanted to see me, I’m not exactly difficult to find. Instagram. Facebook. Contact my agent. Hell, I even set up a TikTok lately, not that I ever use it. I got six million follows in the first twelve hours and I don’t even know how to work the damned thing.
The point is, it’s not like I disappeared off the face of the earth.
Olivia’s pacing through the fake snow, her hands flailing in front of her face. ‘This stupid snow is ruining my hair. I can’t work like this, people.’ She screeches the word ‘people’ like they’re her minions.
I can’t work like this either.
But it has nothing to do with the fake snow, and everything to do with trying to mimic fake feelings for the diamond-encrusted monster in front of me.
It’s looking increasingly like Celeste might be right.
Iama one-trick pony.
The producers have had us retake the same scene for what feels like five thousand times already. Yesterday wasn’t much better.
We have four, maybe five intense weeks of filming left before Christmas. Everybody wants to get in and out and get back to civilisation ASAP. No pressure or anything.
I need to get my head in the game, but it’s nearly impossible when my head is still very much mentally buried between Holly, the mystery woman’s, legs.
I’ve cruised by Ard Na Mara every day since the first night I arrived, and the Mini Cooper is never there.
Where did she go?
And why do I care so much?
I can’t stop thinking about her.
I haven’t had a crush like this since school. They’re more debilitating than I remember.
‘Nate. Hello? Earth to Nate?’ Max, the director, is on set today with the face of a man who is beginning to realise he may have backed the wrong horse. He’s a distinguished-looking type, with peppered grey hair, bucket loads of confidence and the physique of a retired athlete.
We’ve crossed paths several times over the years. Award ceremonies. Oscars. Parties. I don’t know him as such. Max might have a serious reputation with the ladies, but from what I can gather, he has zero interest in Olivia, which is probably why she’s being such a diva.
‘You’re supposed to be in love with her.’ Max jerks his thick thumb towards Olivia roughly. ‘You’re supposed to have spent the last ten years pining after her. Ten years, man! Could you try to put some sort of emotion into this reunion?’
All eyes are on me. Despite the cold, the heat from the overbearing lighting is scalding my skin. I swallow back my irritation and nod at the camera crew, signalling I’m ready to go again.
The lines aren’t a problem. I have a photographic memory. What I’m struggling with is the delivery of them. I need to picture someone else in front of me.
