‘roommate tv show writer screenwriter’, she types.
A name comes up immediately. Thandiwe Adams. Not a name she knows.
‘Thandiwe Adams is the writer of multiple award-winning shows includingLapdogandAll the People We Used to Know’ reads the bio. Elena hasn’t seen either show. She scrolls further, finds a personal bio. ‘Thandiwe Adams was born in 1990 in Baltimore, Maryland, where she attended the local high school before moving to California to pursue a career in screenwriting.’
She types ‘thandiwe adams inspiration for roommate tv show’ and a magazine interview link comes up. Elena’s eyes skim the opening paragraphs, looking for the pertinent piece of information. There it is.
The Roommatewas inspired by something that happened to me in real life, but in a very minor way. I had a roommate once who was difficult – I won’t name names! Eventually, we had to ask her to move out. But I got to thinking – imagine if someone took it too far? Living in that close proximity, getting on each other’s nerves ... what might a person be driven to do? So, similar to my other TV shows, Itook the real-life situation and added some crime. Happily, in real life, things didn’t end quite so badly!
Elena shakes her head. There is no way that’s true – no way Thandiwe Adams had a roommate who looked like Kristina, did what she did, died how she died. But how on earth can this American screenwriter know the story?What is happening?Her eyes scan the room, as though the answer will materialise. Is this some kind of hidden-camera set-up, a prank, a sting, a trap? Is this down to Kyle? Did he tell someone?
She needs to find Kyle.
She’s never googled him. Some sort of superstition, maybe, has kept her from typing his name into Facebook or Instagram. The very last time she saw him was at Kristina’s funeral. The two of them there, pretending they believed what everyone else believed. After that, by unspoken mutual agreement, they parted ways. And in all that time, whenever Kyle pops into her head, she pushes his memory away. What will he look like now, she wonders, as she types his name. The answer to that question is immediate. Kyle Rookwood is on Facebook, Instagram, X and TikTok. The same profile picture across all platforms – the same face she knew back then. Lines corrugate his brow and he’s greying at the temples, but otherwise, he’s the same. She clicks into his Instagram profile, careful not to like or follow or even look at his Stories, so he doesn’t know she’s searching for him. Kyle is a nightclub owner now. That isnotwhat she was expecting. A nightclub called Rocks, in Dublin city centre. A venue famed for drug raids and fights.
Richard walks back in. ‘Ready for the final episode?’
She swallows against the tightness in her throat. Nods when the words won’t come. It’s the last thing she wants to see, but she has to know how it plays out. How much Thandiwe Adams knows about what happened next.
The final episode opens with Ben and Marcia arriving back at the house to see flames through the downstairs window and black smoke billowing out. They race from the taxi, clearly shocked and devastated to see their dream house on fire. The camera pans from the burning home to the main characters’ faces, flames reflected in their eyes.
Then Marcia’s expression changes. Her eyes widen, her hand goes to her mouth. She turns to her husband.
‘Jane. Oh god, Ben, what if she’s still in there?’
Ben grimaces, doesn’t reply. He runs towards the house, pushing in through the front door. The flames are roaring in the kitchen, thick black smoke choking around the door to Jane’s room. There’s no way to make it through. Ben races back out, then into the garage, shielding his mouth and nose with his shirt. At Jane’s door, he fumbles for the keys in his pocket. It takes a moment, but he finds the right one, unlocks the door, and after a small hesitation pulls the key out again and shoves it back into his pocket. Jane is visible on the far side of the room, in a crumpled heap on the floor. Ben races to her but it’s clear it’s too late – there’s no pulse. Everything is written across Ben’s face. Horror, guilt, fear. Then his jaw sets and there’s something new. Determination. He scoops Jane into his arms, carries her back across the room and into the garage, where he lays her on the floor.
He rushes out of the garage, then sprints back into the house through the front door.
In the hallway, he stops for a moment, as though considering his next move. On the hall table sit a phone and aset of keys. It’s hard to see with the smoke, but the implication – the way the camera pans to the table – is that it’s Jane’s iPhone and Jane’s keys. Ben grabs both, then heads back to the garage. Marcia is at the front of the house, hands over her mouth, watching, though she can’t see inside the garage. In the distance, sirens sound.
Ben picks up Jane and pushes through the door at the back of the garage. He stands for a moment in the garden, Jane still in his arms, then runs towards a shed all the way at the bottom of the garden. He lays Jane on the grass while he opens the shed door. The sound of sirens grows louder and the flames intensify. Ben drags Jane’s body into the shed, grabs a padlock from a shelf and locks the door from the outside, stuffing that key in his pocket too. He takes Jane’s phone out and types something the viewer can’t see. Then he runs through the side gate and out to Marcia at the front of the house, just as the first fire engine arrives.
In the Sullivans’ living room, Elena watches, transfixed, sick.How does Thandiwe Adams know this?
‘What a fucker,’ Richard says. ‘Also, what is he going to do now – he surely can’t just leave a body in the shed.’
Elena knows what happens next. She doesn’t say a word.
Onscreen, firefighters swarm the house, dousing flames. A first responder speaks to Ben and Marcia.
‘Is there anyone in the house?’ she asks.
‘Our roommate was there—’ Marcia starts.
Ben cuts in. ‘She left, thank god. She texted to say she was going to her family’s cabin by Lake Hugo.’ Ben is visibly shaking, a masterful performance. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done if she was still ... Oh god, I feel sick.’
Marcia rubs his back, tears in her eyes. The police officer speaks into a radio then turns back to them.
‘So it’s just your roommate and you two living here? Definitely nobody else in the house?’
‘Definitely,’ Marcia says, her voice choked. Ben pulls her into a hug.
In real life, on the Sullivans’ sofa, Elena shakes her head and closes her eyes.
‘You OK?’ Richard asks. ‘Falling asleep?’
‘I’m fine,’ she says, her voice coming out in a whisper. She tries again, forces a smile. ‘All good.’
