Chapter Twenty-Two
Joe
I was in my bedroom looking out of the window, feelings of trepidation and nervousness sitting inside me like unwanted squatters. I had sent Carl over the first episode of House Shared , and we were about to jump on a Zoom meeting. I couldn’t stop my leg from nervously bobbing up and down in anticipation. What if he hated it?
I had poured my heart and soul into House Shared , and I genuinely believed it was the best thing I had written in years, but that didn’t mean Carl would agree. I knew he looked at my work from a different perspective than me. I only wore my creative hat, but he had his finger on the pulse of what production companies and channels were after, what was flavour of the month, what was already in production, and what was needed next. Like so many things, it wasn’t always what was best, the funniest, or the most well written, but what could be sold and marketed. It truly felt like the success or failure of this project would determine whether I had a bright future to look forward to or whether I would end up a miserable failure, drunkenly lamenting to anyone who would listen in late-night pubs that I used to be someone.
It was a glorious day, and the sun was shining against the window and creating patches of warmth that lay across my room. I looked outside and saw the top of a bus go by, people in seats staring at their phones, and in the distance a plane flying against the sky, and I wanted to be on that plane. Any plane, actually, because it felt like it had been so long since I had been on a proper holiday abroad with sunshine, sandy beaches and exotic food. So many things I wanted, craved, and yet I felt it all rested on the potential outcome of this meeting. I waited for a moment, and then the screen changed, and Carl was suddenly in front of me, sipping a coffee in his office, looking as dashing as always in a smart shirt and tie. I did feel rather grubby in my old polo shirt and with my hair that probably needed a wash, a few weeks of stubble on my face that was turning greyer and greyer with each passing year.
‘Joe!’ said Carl loudly.
‘Hello, Carl,’ I replied, never quite sure of myself over the internet. I always preferred meeting in real life. Old-fashioned? Probably, but it just felt different. ‘How are you?’
‘Yes, yes, all good. Just back from a meeting at the mothership.’
‘The mothership?’
‘Broadcasting House. The BBC. The Beeb.’
‘Oh, right. Did it go well?’
‘Define well, Joe. Anyway, how are things with you? Still under one very awkward roof?’
‘I am, although doing my best to make it work.’ Obviously I didn’t mention walking in on Freya naked and having a huge argument about me seeing a therapist in secret.
‘Right, well, let’s hope it doesn’t impact the writing because, Joe, mate, I have to say that I absolutely loved the script. For a pilot it has everything. I think we can definitely tighten up a few places, tweak some of the jokes, but it’s terrific. I thought the cold water swimming club was a stroke of genius – no pun intended. Very much on the money!’
‘That’s good to hear, Carl. So, you want me to write a full series?’
‘Definitely. Crack on with it. I really think this could be something. In the meeting today they were asking if I had something like this. A multigenerational prime-time comedy series, and I mentioned it, explained the concept and that you were attached, and they thought it was a fabulous idea.’
‘Blimey, right, I’d better get cracking then.’
‘I’ll send over the pilot to my contacts at the BBC and see what they think, get some early feedback, but if they love it as much as I think they will, this could really be something. Everyone loves a good comeback story, and this, Joe, could be yours! Now, have you told Freya about it yet?’
‘Well, umm, not exactly.’
‘Then you must because if this does get commissioned, I don’t want any problems down the track. The last thing we need is to get the green light, and then the ex-wife gets pissed off, and the whole thing gets pulled because of the threat of legal action. Have the conversation, Joe.’
‘Right, will do.’
‘But otherwise, I’m all in and very excited. This has the feeling of a hit, and now with all the streaming platforms, plus all the old boys desperate not to get left behind or miss the boat on something, there’s more chance than ever of something like this getting made. It’s bang on the zeitgeist, Joe, and you know how much I love the fucking zeitgeist!’
I couldn’t believe how positive he was about it. Carl was an agent, and it was his job to blow smoke up the bottoms of creatives like me, and wine and dine the people who bought scripts like the BBC. Carl knew how to work people and how to get what he wanted, but he was also a realist and he hated wasting anyone’s time, especially his own. He knew giving me the green light to go ahead and write a full series of six episodes would mean a serious chunk of time, and if he didn’t think it was good, he would have told me. He knew how to make things sound better than they were, but he also knew when something was never going to work, and he would tell you straight. I had pitched him numerous ideas over the years that he had told me weren’t strong enough. He would tell me to come back with something better, bigger, funnier, more dramatic with a higher concept. He didn’t blow smoke up my bottom because he knew we didn’t have the time, and also we had worked together for so long, he knew I didn’t need the smoke.
‘There is one thing I want you to focus on going forward,’ said Carl with a slight note of caution in his voice.
‘Right.’
‘The daughter. I think her story needs more layers, Joe. At the moment she’s just a little, err, one-dimensional, you know. A bit of a clothes horse. Any ideas?’
Fuck. I had already thought about using Dolly coming out as gay in the show, it was gold, but I couldn’t. It was bad enough that Freya didn’t know I was writing a sitcom about the break-up of our marriage, the last thing I could do was use my own daughter’s sexual awakening, too. I already knew I was on thin ice with Freya after the whole therapy argument, I couldn’t risk losing Dolly as well. Whatever I did with the character, it just couldn’t be that.
‘Leave it with me, Carl. I’ll think of something.’
‘Because I think you’ve nailed Kate and Dan, but it feels like the daughter is a little too, you know, pointless. She needs an edge. Find the edge, Joe!’
‘Right. Got it. Find the edge!’
‘Good man.’
Carl and I spoke for another twenty minutes on the show, and his ideas going forward, and a possible timeline of future episodes, before we said goodbye. I promised Carl I would have some more scripts for him soon. I would deliver each episode after it was done, and he would offer editorial advice, script changes, ideas, and together over the next few months we would craft the first series. Perhaps if the BBC really loved it, we would get into meetings with them soon.
One thing Carl said before he left was that he wanted to get this done quickly because he felt like we had a window of opportunity. At that moment, there was nothing else like it in production, and if we could get it ready for meetings as quickly as possible, it stood a better chance. All I heard was: Start writing and don’t stop until it’s done because your whole bloody future depends on it! The biggest issue was that I needed to tell Freya about it and soon.
After the dinner with Maya, things with Freya had been marginally better. It really felt like having that night together had somehow connected us again, and I didn’t want to ruin it by telling her about the show. On the other hand, surely the longer I waited, the more difficult it would become, and I didn’t want that either. Plus, there was the constant guilt that moved around inside of me like a computer virus, shutting down apps and causing involuntary glitches. I was caught between a particular jagged rock and a very hard place, and I wasn’t keen on either.
After the Zoom meeting, I went downstairs and popped the kettle on. I would get my tea, and then head back upstairs to work. I needed to find some additional layers for the daughter, which definitely couldn’t be that she was gay. Perhaps an abusive boyfriend? No, too dark for a sitcom. Recently dumped and heartbroken? Perhaps but a little cliched. I obviously needed to spend more time on this. She needed an edge, and I had to find it. Perhaps the success or failure of the whole project depended on it.
I trudged back up the stairs, my cup of tea in hand, thoughts swirling through my mind. A deluge of ideas and things I had to do. I had never been particularly good at multitasking and now I had so many thoughts carefully balanced one on top of the other, I had the notion that I needed to be careful, or they might all come toppling down one after the other, and I would be left in a messy heap. It wasn’t the first time I’d had that thought recently, and it was slightly unsettling because there had been times in my life when I had been so clear-thinking, focused and completely in charge of my life, but perhaps these complications were good because they were at the very heart of House Shared . Love was more straightforward when we were younger, at the beginning of life, but as we got older, our lives were full of baggage, and maintaining love became harder and harder. My marriage had started out as this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come to me so easily like the world’s greatest gift, but it had been inflicted with the intricacies of middle age, and crumbled under the weight. This was what I was writing about, and so I had to embrace the carnage because that was life and truth, and surely life and truth could both be fucking hilarious.