Chapter Fourteen #2
Amelia let it all spill out, knowing there was a good possibility that she would live to regret it.
After all, she had chosen Bridget as her confidante.
She wasn’t exactly warm, fuzzy, or compassionate.
But in that moment, Amelia didn’t care. It felt good to release everything she had been holding in, even to Bridget.
She did an extra lap around the field to give herself enough time to cover everything.
“What do you think?” Amelia asked, suddenly finding herself quite interested in Bridget’s opinion.
Probably because it was the only opinion available.
“Or are you just going to blab that you slept with Gabe again?” That’s what had happened the last time Amelia had confided in her—and she still wasn’t over the shock.
“No, I have not.” Bridget looked thoughtful for a few moments. About Gabe or Amelia’s situation, she wasn’t sure. Then she said, “Do you think Steve’s single?”
“Steve? Steve from security?”
Bridget gave her a curt nod, features emotionless.
“No. I know for a fact that Steve is very happily married and has a lovely wife who checks in on him while he’s at work.”
“Shame. Maybe I will sleep with Gabe again then.” Bridget lifted a shoulder. “I think you’re wasting your time.”
This conversation was giving Amelia emotional whiplash. “On Imogen?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Even though we love each other? What about our connection? I really do think we might be meant to be.”
Bridget made a face. “Meant to be. Like that’s even a thing. She doesn’t seem to love you enough to put up with a few articles questioning her outfit choices every now and again. Does she?”
Amelia narrowed her eyes. “How can you say that? We both know the scrutiny out there is way worse than that. People were awful to Imogen after her breakup. They picked apart everything. Called her pathetic. Attention-seeking. Accused her of clinging onto her ex-girlfriend for relevance. I’m not even going to repeat the rest. The press are only one part of it these days.
Internet trolls are relentless. And a whole lot meaner too. ”
“You can grow a thick skin. If you want to,” Bridget said.
“No one should have to. You shouldn’t face abuse because of who you’re dating.” Amelia hit the brake and brought the golf cart to an abrupt stop as they arrived back at the staging area.
Bridget climbed out, then leaned back down and poked her head in. “You want my advice? Let her go.” She straightened. “Now stop being so fucking miserable and don’t take all day on this scene. I’m freezing my tits off here.”
Amelia could only laugh as she watched her strut away toward her white cart, yelling to the crew that they were ready. Who knew Bridget Clemonte had layers?
A couple of people from makeup hurried over to touch up their faces before they started shooting.
At the same time, camera operators shuffled around rigging equipment onto the carts.
She and Bridget each had two cameras mounted inside, plus another pointed at them from the front.
Two tracking vehicles were also lined up to follow them, along with a drone overhead. Shots would be taken from all angles.
Then it was showtime. Amelia breathed in deeply and tried to shake off all her thoughts of Imogen.
She could mope again when she got back to the hotel.
Ruminate. Ponder Bridget’s advice. Maybe make that call to her mom.
But for now, she was ready to focus on making a great scene because she was a damn good actor.
The producer with the clapperboard stepped out to do one final check, frantically talking into her walkie-talkie. Then she gave Bridget and Amelia both a wave, signalling they were almost good to go. “Thirty seconds,” she yelled.
Amelia slipped into character, channelling her inner Scarlett. That was the moment to do it—not after the clapperboard snapped shut. It was too late by then. Even a second of hesitation would ruin the scene. The transition didn’t just need to be seamless, it needed to be non-existent.
So, Amelia put on her—and Scarlett’s—most determined face and stared straight ahead at Bridget’s cart. They had already filmed the shots where they ran and jumped into their vehicles. This next part was the driving sequence, so Amelia hovered her foot over the pedal.
“Action.”
Bridget was off.
“Eve! Wait!” Amelia internally counted to three, just like she was supposed to, using those seconds to fumble with the controls like Scarlett was in a panic.
On her three, Amelia pushed down on the accelerator—which was a generous name for a vehicle whose maximum speed was only twenty miles per hour according to the white sticker on the dash.
It might have been slow, but it felt a hell of a lot faster as Amelia travelled over the bumpy, mucky ground. They were in the middle of rural nowhere—there were no pristine, tended lawns here.
She frowned when she saw Bridget braking up ahead. Amelia pulled up alongside her and hit her own brake. The vehicles following them also skidded to a stop.
“Wrong way!” one of the camera crew called out, before tutting and turning around to return to their cue point.
“I was following you,” Amelia said to Bridget.
“I missed an arrow, okay?” Bridget said huffily. She aggressively pulled her lever back to reverse, then turned around and drove away without so much as glancing at Amelia.
Ah-ha. Bridget hated being wrong.
At least it hadn’t been Amelia who’d fucked up. She headed back to the start too, and they got ready for another take.
“Action!”
“Eve! Wait!” Off they went again, probably with more confidence than the first time. Amelia was still sticking to her plan and following Bridget—if one of them got it wrong, they would both have to redo the whole thing anyway.
“Eve, please. Slow down,” Amelia yelled as she put the accelerator to the floor.
Oof. Twenty miles per hour did feel fast through the bumpy field.
Bumpy was an understatement. It was downright turbulent.
And those hills. Amelia was pretty sure they made the cart exceed its twenty miles per hour limit—she felt like a rally driver.
Amelia almost broke character as she watched Bridget’s cart wobble in front of her.
And then, seconds later, there was a mammoth bump. Huge. A bump-zilla. Like Amelia had actually hit something which caused her cart to wobble so much more than Bridget’s had. Before Amelia knew what was happening, the whole thing was tipping over.
It felt like slow motion. Like minutes had passed between bump and disaster. In reality, the whole thing had probably happened in about four seconds.
Once the cart fell, everything went very still.
There was an intense ringing in her ears.
She wanted to cover her ears to try to mute the ringing, but for some reason she couldn’t.
That was when Amelia noticed that she was sore.
She wasn’t sure where, but there was pain searing through her body.
Ow. Whatever that was, really hurt. Amelia thought she could make out voices, but they were muffled.
Like she was listening to them underwater or something.
There hadn’t been water in that field, had there?
A lake or something? The voices got closer.
There were three or four different ones.
“Amelia!”
“Amelia, are you okay?”
“Can you hear me, Amelia?”
“Holy fuck, Amelia. What the hell have you done?”
Amelia was sure she recognised that last one, but when she tried to figure out who it was the voices began to fade away, and the blue sky that she had been staring into went completely dark.
“Emergency cheese order at the ready,” Songbird Sally said cheerfully as she rushed into the Wishing Well swinging a stripy cloth bag by her side. “And fresh veggies for stew too.”
Imogen could have kissed her. “You are a lifesaver, Sal. I owe you one.” It was a tad inconvenient that they had managed to run out, but it was also a good problem to have.
Word of mouth was a great advertiser, and the pub on everyone’s lips right now was the Wishing Well.
Okay, not everyone, but certainly some people’s.
They had even made a modest profit during the past fortnight—enough to replace some of the most worn chairs and the ricketiest tables.
Imogen put their newfound busy-ness down to gaining a good reputation, Niamh’s obsession with their online advertising, and Piper’s Halloween transformation that was the talk of the village.
An honourable mention had to go to Amy too, because there wasn’t a day that some of the film folk didn’t come in.
None of the big stars, much to Piper’s and Niamh’s dismay, but plenty of the crew and the extras.
Still, it hurt to think about Amy right now, so Imogen tried her best not to.
Not unless she was alone anyway—then she did nothing but think.
To mourn what she wasn’t brave enough to keep.
But she had work to do so Imogen mentally gave Amy her credit and moved on.
“You do not owe me a thing. But now that I’m here, you girls can whip me up one of the mixed platters with all the trimmings.
Mel’s finishing up a balayage and then we’re going to eat delicious food, drink a glass of wine, and gossip about everything we’ve seen on the main street this week.
You know what? Give me a bottle. Fresh Picks is closed for the day, so I figure I might as well make a head start. ”
“It would be a shame not to,” Imogen replied, putting on a smile for Sally’s benefit. Genuine happiness had been in short supply that week. “Red or white?”
“Meet me in the middle and give me a rosé,” Sally said with a wiggle of her well-shaped, white eyebrows.
“See, I always forget about the compromise.”
“A sin. Leave my tab open,” Sally called over her shoulder with a wink, as she sauntered off to find a vacant table.