“Yes. And you two are?”
Introductions. More stupidity. And Oliver now pretty much curled up on my lap. I had no idea where to put my hands, letting them awkwardly rest somewhere at the back of the sofa. Also, I behaved like the twat I clearly was, swatting Elia’s hand away from Oliver’s knee. Because. Okay.
“This here? This is Peter. Peter is my emotional support person and partner. He’s absolutely delightful. Apart from that, he likes tuna sandwiches.”
Oliver… What now?
“I don’t…what?”
“Plain tuna sandwiches. He told me. Why would you like that when you can get Fisher and Brea’s new tuna spread? They’re the perfect filling for your sandwich. Don’t you agree, Peter?”
I couldn’t help myself; I actually laughed out loud, letting my hand fall heavily on Oliver’s leg, sternly brushing Elia’s yet again incoming hand away. My head falling against his shoulder. Like some kind of weird embrace.
The little bastard. Oh God. And that Elia needed to control his wandering hands. What was it with everyone trying to touch people? And now Roxette had her arm slung around Elia’s shoulders.
“Get with the script.” He chuckled into my ear.
“Tuna sandwiches.”
“Classy.” He laughed. I did too.
Chapter 10
Oliver
“Oliver, tell me about yourself. If young Oliver could see you know, what would he be thinking?”
I should have been used to this by now, having settled into the daily routine of being grilled to death. The questions were intrusive, yet impressively on point. Whoever was producing this script knew their stuff, which should perhaps have put me at ease. It didn’t because… Well. The truth was? This had been nothing like what I had planned. I liked to plan, and I liked my schedule to run exactly like my own personal script. Work was like that, and this?
It wasn’t work. It was excruciatingly hellish, on every level. I’d been here, in this room in this very seat, twice a day for what felt like…weeks. Maybe I was losing track of time, of daylight and nighttime and waking hours and times when I should have been eating…
“I think young Oliver wouldn’t have been watching reality TV, Gina.”
Her gentle sigh said it all. I wasn’t playing ball, and she knew it. Too many questions. The same ones being regurgitated in different robes. Disguised as friendly banter when they were nothing of the sort.
“Who are you? Who is the real Oliver?” She leant in, doing that thing I was noticing she often did. Looking all concerned and motherly. Like my boss sometimes did when she was about to pull shit on me. Tell me off for offending some client. Pushing people too far.
The real me? I smiled weakly. What was I supposed to say? I’m out of place, and I can’t cope and to be honest? I got up at three in the morning last night and had a full-blown panic attack in the bathroom, and all I want is to get some good quality blow up my nose so I can have a break. The real me? The real, real me?
“I think I’m someone who doesn’t always say the right thing. Sometimes I’m way ahead of myself in my head, and ahead of the conversation, meaning the wrong responses might slip out, at the wrong time. It’s something I am well aware of.”
“Oliver,” Gina said, with a deep sigh, moving her seat closer to me. “You need to try to work with me here. That kind of thing won’t cut it. You’ve read the script. You know what kind of answers we are after. Nobody is going to vote for a guy who’s…ahead of the conversation.It makes you sound full of yourself, and if I may say so? Rather cocky.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? I’m looking for a hookup with a big dick that will get me followers on bloody Instagram?”
“Oliver.” Gina was rolling her eyes. “You may be a little shit in private, but sharing that attitude with the viewers won’t do you any favours. Not here, not now, not ever.”
“Gina,” I replied.
“You’re such hard work,” she muttered. “And you need to cut that attitude right out.” She dismissively waved her hand to the production person.
“The real me? What was it you asked earlier? What would I say to the younger Oliver? Well, perhaps I would have told him to pipe down and not cause trouble. Maybe I would have told him to get the hell out of some of the situations he got himself into. But I didn’t because me? Who am I? Perhaps I’m just the idiot who thinks this will lead to fame and fortune. Doesn’t everyone here?”
She stared at me. I stared back.
I shouldn’t open my mouth. And I should probably take my own advice.
“Cut that whole bit. Just cut.” Gina was waving at someone with a clipboard, frustration written all over her face.
