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Carly shot her a look. “Do you?”
“No one asked me to lift. I’m head of logistics.”
“You gave yourself that title.”
“It’s called delegation. You should try it.”
Before Carly could reply, Lauren appeared in the doorway wearing black shorts and a hoodie, her hair styled into a perfect quiff.
“You know you’re supposed to lift with your legs, right?” she said, fiddling with her drawstring. “Perhaps they teach it differently in the army.”
“The army taught me just fine,” Carly replied, bending to pick up another barbell.
“Of course. I didn’t mean—”
“Where’s Paige?”
“She’s collecting some equipment from one of her burlesque mates. She’ll be here.”
“Burlesque?” Beth said as Carly passed. “If I’d known it was that kind of shoot, I might’ve volunteered.”
“Don’t get too excited. Paige is heavily pregnant, and the only three-way happening tonight is me showing Lauren how to do a proper squat.”
“Oh, no. I already know how to squat,” Lauren said, hoisting an entire tub of weight plates. Her knees gave a theatrical wobble. “Where do you want these?”
“Put them down before you injure yourself, then follow me.”
Lauren obeyed, which was alarming in itself, and fell into step as they approached the van. A pair of delivery men were unloading the last bits of kit, but after almost two hours of moving equipment, Carly’s arms ached right up into her shoulders.
She hauled herself into the back of the van and grabbed a couple of foam rollers.
Lauren climbed in too. “So, um. What did you actually do in the army?”
“Logistics. I was a driver.”
“Oh.” Lauren accepted the foam rollers Carly shoved towards her. “So no, like… shooting people?”
Carly might have smiled if she’d had the energy. There was a weird disappointment in Lauren’s voice, beneath the obvious nerves.
“There’s more to the army than shooting people.”
“I know. Sorry. It must have been rewarding.”
“It was a job.” It hadn’t been, but that was the version people could handle. Carly passed her another roller. “Help me get these inside.”
Twenty minutes later, they’d finally finished setting out the repurposed kit. Beth ticked off each item on her clipboard as if there was a genuine risk someone had pocketed a rowing machine, and all that remained was for Carly to change. She was unwilling to feature in any videos wearing dust, oil and sweat stains.
When she returned from the changing rooms, Beth was still loitering in the lobby.
Perhaps she’d hung around to check the filming session didn’t come with mood lighting and a parental advisory warning. Either that, or she’d remembered she was going home to an empty house again.
“You don’t need to be here,” Carly said, running a hand over her tightly pulled-back hair. She’d tied it into a high ponytail and put on her company polo shirt to keep things on brand.
“I thought I might be helpful.”
“You thought you might stick your nose in.”
Carly wasn’t in the mood to be spied on. She wanted to get the videos recorded and head home, because she’d agreed to take Berkeley for the night. Samantha was allegedly at her wits’ end, which meant everyone around her would be pushed to theirs.
