“You haven’t been in touch at all about dinner dates,” he says gruffly.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking, and how are you?”
“Harper, I’ve had a bad morning and I’m not in the mood,” he warns. “I sent you an email with a list of dates convenient for us and Juliet, but you didn’t reply and some of those may be filled now.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Well, it would be polite of you to get back to me,” he snaps. “Juliet works much longer days and still finds the time to message her parents.”
I sigh, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. “Dad, I’ll reply to your email, okay? Thanks for the reminder.”
“Where are you? Why does it sound so loud?”
“I’m on a train.”
“You’re not in the office on a weekday?” he asks with great disapproval.
I rub my forehead, closing my eyes. “My job sometimes involves travel. I’m going to Manchester to interview Max Sjöberg.”
“Who?”
“The Swedish actor. Have you seenBlue Lights?”
“I don’t have time to watch soaps,” he says dismissively. “Send me the dates that suit when you find the time in your hectic schedule.”
I bite my tongue, not letting myself snap back at his heavily sarcastic tone.
“Okay, will do. Anyway, I might lose you at any moment because of the train signal, so thanks for the call and I’ll message you with those dates.”
I hang up and slump back in my seat, tossing my phone onto the tray table and trying to take deep breaths, as a therapist once advised me to do. I booked a couple of sessions after attending my parents’ greatly challenging anniversary dinner where, after listing Juliet’s many achievements to their fawning friends, my parents breezed past me saying I was “still experimenting career-wise.”
No one spoke to me the whole night. I drank too much vodka and left before dessert without saying goodbye, stealthily tipping the spoon from my place setting into my handbag before I went. The next morning I pondered why stealing from my own parents felt like a small victory, but it did. I couldn’t explain it.
By the time the train pulls into Manchester station, I’ve gone through my questions for Max and rechecked my makeup and general appearance, feeling a little nervous. I don’t know how this is going to play out with Ryan, but I have to stand firm and make sure I lead this interview, not him. I head to the taxi rank and send Ryan a message once I’m in a car to let him know I’m on my way.
He replies:
Great, I just arrived so see you soon.
Ofcoursehe’s early. He’s probably done that on purpose, trying to get in there with Max so that when I show up, they’re already best buddies. I hope Max’s publicist, Mae, wouldn’t allow anything to go ahead without me being there, too.
We reach the set location—a cobbled road called Little David Street, which has been closed off for filming. I spot Mae standing in a corner behind the camera crew; she’s talking to Ryan, who is holding two coffee cups.
I scowl instinctively.
Ryan is probably filling her in on his Swedish heritage and trying to suck up to her by bringing her a delicious coffee. I hope Mae isn’t falling for it, although by the way she’s fluttering her eyelashes up at him, I may have already lost her allegiance.
I’ve worked with Mae before and we get on well. She’s very smart and has a cool, trendy edge to her, always dressed like she’s heading to an exclusive house party hosted by a DJ in an abandoned warehouse in Hackney. Today she’s in high-waisted black-and-white checkered trousers with a loose white collared shirt tucked in and buttoned up to the top and heeled black ankle boots. She’s wearing little to no makeup because she has that kind of effortless beauty that people like me can only dream of: long, dark, impossibly glossy curls; strikingly large dark-brown doe eyes; full, plump lips.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I march toward them determinedly.
“Harper, you’re here!” Mae says, brightening and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s been ages. How was your journey?”
“Not too bad, thanks,” I say, plastering on a smile and greeting Ryan with a curt nod. “The train wasn’t as busy as I thought.”
“Good. Well, I’ve been telling Ryan that, as usual, we’re ateensy bit behind so I’m not sure you’re going to be able to speak to Max for a while.”
“And I was telling Mae that we’re happy to wait around so long as we get one of those cool chairs that sayWRITERacross the back,” Ryan says with more animation than he usually exhibits around a stranger.
