Chapter Fourteen
Throwing herself into work it was then.
It had been five days since that excruciating morning when Amelia had last seen Imogen.
Five whole days since the biggest turnaround in human history.
They should teach it in schools—that shift.
How could you go from one of the happiest moments of your life to one of the crappiest moments in the space of twelve hours? How?
Amelia had never told someone she loved them only to have them pull away before. And she had to admit, it didn’t feel great.
She didn’t say those three words lightly either.
Some people threw them around way too easily—but not her.
Amelia hadn’t said them very many times in her adult life.
Most of her “I love yous” had been during teenage infatuations when she thought she knew about love but really didn’t know a damn thing.
Huh. Maybe nothing had changed on that front…
Only it had, and Amelia was pretty sure she did finally know what love was.
She also liked to think she was savvy enough to know when someone loved her as well.
Or at least could love her. And the more she agonised over every little detail—as was her newest hobby of the last five days—Amelia really did think Imogen loved her.
Except somehow everything had gone pear-shaped anyway.
It was bound to happen at some point. Amelia getting recognised. She hadn’t expected it to happen quite so soon, but it had been inescapable because of who she was. And although she wasn’t surprised that Imogen had freaked out about it, she was surprised that it had led to radio silence.
Well, radio silence was an exaggeration.
There had been a few texts back and forth.
Though they’d been scarce and brief. Surface level how are yous and perfunctory how’s work going?
There had also been a grand total of two phone calls that had each lasted less than ten minutes, and they talked around things more than they talked about things.
Come to think of it, complete radio silence might have been less confusing.
The party Amelia had stupidly invited Imogen to—another nail in her coffin, she was sure—had come and gone.
Amelia had only gone down to show her face as it was compulsory.
She had stayed for under an hour before disappearing upstairs and locking herself away in her room again.
She liked it there in her hotel room. With her big comfy king-sized bed. And her silence. Far away from people.
But during the days, Amelia’s work had been exemplary.
Heartache was great for Amelia’s craft. She was sure happiness was good for it too, but hey, that was harder to come by.
Her emotional scenes had been raw and believable.
Her romantic scenes had been brimming with the right amount of wistfulness.
Today, she would see how she fared with the funny scenes.
Amelia knew that her sense of humour was lacking at present, so she hoped all those years of acting coaching would finally start to pay for themselves here.
She was stuck filming a ridiculous scene where she had to chase Bridget through some fields in a golf cart. Amelia had never driven a golf cart in her life. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever held a golf club, let alone visited a course.
Both the director and the executive producer had scoffed at her apprehension and informed her that it was easy.
Their exact words had been, “A five-year-old could do it.” Which basically meant Amelia was going to have to suck it up and learn very fast. When she had enquired about using stunt doubles, she had been met with a mixture of laughs and scowls.
Neither had been pleasant. Seemingly, the budget didn’t allow for stunt doubles on this movie considering there were very few stunts to be done.
Golf carts didn’t count, she was sternly informed.
Of course, to make matters worse, perfect Bridget golfed on the weekends back home. Apparently, she could drive a cart in her sleep. Amelia suspected it was bullshit because from what she knew of Bridget, she undoubtedly had people whose sole purpose was to drive carts for her back home.
“Have you never driven one around sets you’ve worked on before?” Bridget asked while fluffing her hair. “All the big studios have them.”
Amelia glared at her, childishly wishing she could reach up and mess up her hair completely. Hurting evidently made her petty and immature. “Clearly not. In my experience, golf carts usually come with people who know how to drive them already.”
“But you own a car, right? Do you drive that?”
Amelia actually owned five, but she wasn’t in Bridget’s league when it came to bragging. “Yes, but I was taught how to use it and given a test to prove myself. These are not cars. They are rickety. And open.”
She took a step toward the red golf cart she had been told would be hers. Bridget had insisted on having the white—why, Amelia had no clue. Probably complimented her complexion better.
“Do you need to watch a tutorial or something? Carts for beginners?” Bridget asked impatiently while Amelia studied the controls and ignored her. If it had been a genuine offer she might have accepted, but she had become well-versed in knowing when Bridget’s words were laced with sarcasm.
Squinting in concentration, Amelia could see that there was a lever, two pedals, and a steering wheel. Plus a little slot for the key, which was sitting on the seat.
She assumed one of the pedals was go and the other was stop. Like one of the go-karts that she hadn’t been on since she was eight. That part was okay. The steering wheel was self-explanatory, swivel and turn, same as a car. “What’s the lever for?”
Bridget sighed, like she couldn’t possibly bear to answer the question. “Forward or back. It’s not rocket science, Amelia.”
“I’ve never driven one before, okay? Cut me some damn slack.” Amelia knew she sounded snappy, but that was basically her at the minute. Snappy as a crocodile, or one of those snapping turtles that were deceptively cute but ready to sink their jaws right into your arm.
She turned to the crew who were all huddled nearby. Most of them had coats and scarves wrapped around themselves and were sipping from steamy cups. Not Amelia. She was driving a frickin’ golf cart in an above-the-knee dress they’d shoved her into. “Can I take it for a test drive first?”
Amelia was being a pain in everyone’s ass today. She could read the looks on their faces. “You’ve got five minutes,” Gina hollered over, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.
Bridget groaned dramatically and slumped against Amelia’s cart. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack,” Amelia said as she lifted the key and slipped into the driver’s seat.
“I’ve been ready to start this scene for the last ten minutes while you’ve been doing a full auto-evaluation. There’ll probably be forty takes anyway with the way you’re behaving. Can’t one of those be your test drive?”
Amelia turned and answered her by turning the key.
She’d been staring at Bridget as she did it, expecting some kind of noise to roar out.
Like the revs from a motorbike or a lawnmower spluttering to life.
It was a bit of an anticlimax when no noise came out.
And a little embarrassing. “Are you going to move or will I run over your foot?” Amelia asked with extra sass in an attempt to save face.
Bridget took a step away from the cart, but rather than walking away, she slipped into the seat right beside Amelia. Great, a passenger. Just what Amelia wanted.
“You’re grumpy this week,” Bridget stated instead of explaining why she had got in.
“Yep.” Amelia hadn’t spoken to Bridget or anyone else about Imogen since the big freeze out.
That could be another act in her play—the Big Freeze Out.
Amelia didn’t want to talk about this act.
And she must have been giving off those vibes too, because Bridget hadn’t asked yet. It was obviously coming.
Without elaborating further, Amelia pushed the lever up, assuming that would make the cart move forward, and carefully pushed her foot down on the pedal labelled go. Her assumption was correct. They slowly eased forward, bumping along the uneven grass, which was still soggy from morning dew.
“See,” Bridget said once they had travelled a few metres without a hiccup. “It’s hardly difficult.”
Maybe Amelia had made a fuss out of nothing.
But she wasn’t going to concede that point to Bridget.
“I didn’t say it would be difficult, I said I wanted a few seconds to get the hang of it.
That’s all.” She circled the field, ignoring the bright yellow arrows that had been laid out for them to follow during their scene.
“Right.” Bridget picked a piece of lint off her trousers which she had been lucky enough to be put in by the costume crew. At least she got warm clothes. “Do you want to talk, or…?” She didn’t look at Amelia when she asked.
“About what?” she asked stubbornly.
“About this shit mood you’re in,” Bridget replied bluntly.
Did Amelia want to talk? She should talk.
Bottling things up wasn’t good for anybody.
She had hovered over her mom’s name on her cell the past couple of nights, ready to press call.
But she had decided against it both times.
Her mom would be totally on her side, and at some point, Amelia might need that.
A cheerleader. Someone ready to go to war for her.
But what she needed there and then was an impartial, dispassionate ear.
She glanced over at Bridget who was staring straight ahead with a blank expression on her face. She certainly fit the dispassionate bill.