‘Hey, lovely,’ Reb calls from the doorway. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Hi, Reb,’ I say, waving half-heartedly.
God, it really is bright in here. I don’t have to try hard to pretend I have a migraine because I can barely see.
‘Do you have time for a temperature check?’ Reb asks, and when I don’t immediately answer she adds, ‘You know, just to check you’re doing alright?’
Oh God. I told Dolly I was autistic last night, didn’t I? Has she told someone? We had a truce, didn’t we?
Or did production somehow hear what I said? Fuck, I didn’t consider that there might be cameras outside.
I try not to react, but honestly my un-masked facial expressions are pretty flat so she probably thinks I haven’t moved a muscle anyway. ‘What’s this about, Reb?’
Reb looks at me like I might be a bit stupid. ‘Babe, you can only seem to open one eye at a time.’
She’s not wrong. I swap which eye is open, and in doing so open both, just to see if I can, but two is far too much. ‘Oh… yeah.’
‘This is your second migraine this week, and I know this environment can be quite stress—’
‘No, no,’ I say, waving my hands. ‘Honestly, I think it was the wine last night. White wine sometimes hits me the wrong way.’
‘Okay, I’ll make a note so no one serves you any. Save your poor nice head. Do you think you can manage filming today?’
‘Mmhmm. What are we doing?’
‘I’m not really supposed to say,’ she says with a sigh. ‘But it’s a challenge. Competitive. Whole lot of you.’
‘Is it physical?’
‘You have to stand up.’
‘I think I can handle that.’
‘Good. Good. Okay, I’ll get you some painkillers, yeah? I’ll send them back with Patrick. Oh. Sorry, can I?’ Reb reaches forward and, with a bit of fiddling, plucks something out of my fringe. Upon seeing what it is, she practically throws it into my lap. ‘Oh, err, it’s an ear plug. Right.’
Poor girl looks ready to vomit. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you in Patrick’s capable care, but do shout if you need more meds later, okay?’
I give her a thumbs up she doesn’t even see, because she sprints out the door.
What a mess. I pick out the crusty bits from my eyes.
I think I can safely assume I wasn’t overheard admitting I’m autistic. She didn’t even mention mental wellbeing, so I guess the migraine excuse works.
But that dream. Dolly shows me one bit of kindness and I start picturing her in her underwear. God, what’swrongwith me? I mean, arguably a lot of things but specifically in this instance, what is going on? I’m supposed to hate her. Am I just some perve who gets horny for kindness?
Patrick returns with a plate of crêpes before I can spiral too much, plus a glass of water and some paracetamol all balanced on top of a big book thing. Even I know that paracetamol is not going to touch a true migraine, but it’ll take the edge off my situation at least.
I neck the meds quickly, trying to ignore the chalky taste of the tablets.
‘Thanks for this,’ I say, eyeing up breakfast.
‘Ah, thank Malachi and Warren. They kept them warm for us.’
He’s already rolled them up for me, lemon and sugar, and I try to be nice and say thank you, even though I’d rather have done it myself as I bet the balance is off. Most people don’t put the best part of a lemon in theirs.
‘So, production were handing out catalogues of all the wedding venues and options for us to go through on camera. Do you think you’d be up for that before the challenge?’
That explains the binder resting by my feet. I’m not sure I’ve got the brain for wedding planning today, but I don’t think I’ve got a choice either.
