Chapter Forty
There was no point in looking at the weather forecast if you lived in Los Angeles as it was pretty predictable.
A bit like his working routine really, Connor thought as he sipped his macchiato, making the most of the unexpected break.
At least he was working and earning money, which was better than being unemployed in Haxford.
If he reminded himself of this often enough, one day it might even feel true.
This afternoon they were midway through filming when the accident happened. One of the lights blew as Bonnie was demonstrating how to segment an orange. The loud bang made everyone jump, her knife slipped and nicked the side of her finger.
With an enormous amount of fuss, Bonnie was now being checked over by the medics, and the production team were clearing up and sterilising the worktop. They were supposed to be working to a schedule, but this delay would probably mean they’d be filming late today.
Connor took advantage of the interlude to check his emails; these days they were mostly junk, so it was a pleasant surprise to see Patrick’s name in his inbox.
He enjoyed his brother’s occasional but chatty emails.
They were mostly rants about his football team being threatened with relegation, or the joys of attempting to work from home with a hyperactive three-year-old bucketing about, and Connor usually replied with a photo of tall palm trees waving against a perfect blue sky, or a photo of the meal Bonnie had just finished cooking on set.
The subject heading of the email was Urgent – please read and respond.
Connor frowned as he opened it. And then a sicky feeling flooded his insides.
He read the email twice. He needed to speak to Patrick, but it was still early morning back in the UK. He glanced up: the lighting guys were still checking over the rig, and various people were clearing up. There was no sign of Bonnie.
‘I’ve just got to make an urgent phone call,’ he said to the floor manager without waiting for a response.
He headed for the room behind the main reception area that was used for visiting guests, impromptu meetings and the like, and which was generally quiet at this time of the day.
It had sofas and chairs in bright primary colours, and the far wall was covered in a large abstract mural, which gave the whole room a very psychedelic feel.
Connor sat facing away from the trippy painting and called up Patrick’s contact details. The only other occupants of the room were seated at a round table discussing changes to someone’s screenplay in unnecessarily loud voices.
The phone rang for a while and then went to voicemail.
‘Hi, Pat, it’s me, Connor. I wanted to find out how Grandad was.’ Connor gave the noisy people a pointed look.
Now what should he do? Should he try again? Was Patrick still asleep? Maybe he’d been at the hospital all night and had only just dropped into bed. He decided to reply to the email but had only got half a dozen words in when his phone rang.
‘Patrick! Thanks for calling back.’
‘The phone was on silent, but I picked up your message. I’ve just popped out of the ward to call you.’
‘How’s Grandad?’
‘He’s still with us, if that’s what you mean?’
It wasn’t actually. Connor hadn’t even considered the fact that Grandad might have been dead. Patrick’s email had been short and to the point; Grandad had had a stroke and was in hospital.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘There’s not a lot you can do, is there? You’re round the other side of the world. As usual, when there’s a family crisis, you’re busy somewhere else.’
Connor winced. Was that how his brother felt about him? That he took no responsibility for anything? Grandad meant everything to him and Patrick knew that. Grandad understood him far better than his dad ever had.
‘Send my love to him, won’t you. Tell him I’m thinking about him.’
Connor sat with the phone in his hands for several minutes after he’d finished his conversation.
Patrick didn’t say whether Grandad was going to make a full recovery.
Strokes were dangerous. He knew that much without even opening a medical encyclopaedia.
What if Grandad died and he never saw him again?
The floor manager stuck his head round the door. ‘Bonnie’s back, no serious damage. Are you ready to recommence?’
Connor raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll be there in two minutes.’
For the second time in as many months, he had just made a decision that he wasn’t sure was the right one.
Last time he put his career and himself first, Rosie had got hurt.
Even though he had sent a text at least once a day since he’d been out here, she never replied, and he would never be able to rid himself of that guilt.
He decided there and then he was not about to make the same mistake all over again.
Bonnie was waiting for him when he arrived back on set. ‘We’ll do a couple of pick-ups. You can’t see any blood.’
‘Actually, something’s come up. Can we have a quick chat?’
Connor could read her body language well, and right now it was hurling abuse at him. However, in the interests of perpetuating the image of a cosy couple, Bonnie smiled thinly and followed him back to the psychedelic room together with the floor manager.
‘What’s the problem?’ Bonnie asked the minute the door closed behind them.
‘I’ve just had news from home. My grandad’s had a stroke.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Good. Because I need to go back to see him. It’s not fair for my brother to do everything.’
‘You know we’re on a tight schedule, don’t you?’
Bonnie was obsessive about timetables, but Connor was fed up of playing second fiddle.
‘It’s not negotiable. I have to get back,’ he repeated.
Bonnie exchanged glances with the floor manager. Connor knew all about deadlines and shooting schedules, but he was also aware that Bonnie’s threat to replace him was pretty useless now they had over two thirds of the series in the can.
‘I’ll have a word with the team, but we can probably shift a few things around and shoot the celebrity scenes in a block,’ the floor manager suggested to Bonnie. ‘Depending on who’s available at short notice of course.’
She nodded. ‘Looks like you get a week off then,’ she said to Connor.
‘Well, it’s not exactly for a holiday, is it,’ he muttered under his breath. He’d been hoping for longer but right now his priority was to get home. He’d worry about everything else later on.
*
He managed to book himself onto a flight leaving Los Angeles at twenty past seven that evening.
It hadn’t taken long to pack a few things; for once Connor decided to travel light, so he crammed as much as possible into a hand luggage holdall, booked a taxi to the airport and left a message on Patrick’s phone to tell him he was on his way.
It wasn’t until he was actually airborne that he was able to relax for a few hours.
As he sat on the plane, sandwiched into an uncomfortable economy seat sipping some very inadequately chilled wine, he hoped Patrick had picked up the message.
He planned to meet Patrick at the hospital and said he could make his own way there.
He had enough cash with him for train and taxis, but not for hotel accommodation.
That didn’t unduly worry him – he would sleep on a hospital floor if necessary. The important thing was to see Grandad.
As children they’d occasionally visited his dad’s parents, but they passed away when he was young and his memories of them were somewhat hazy.
His maternal grandparents had lived closer and after his mum died, they visited Nan and Grandad regularly; often for several days at a time if their dad was working out of the country.
Grandad understood the frustrations of a twelve-year-old boy who would never be as clever as his older brother, but who was desperate for the same parental approval.
When Patrick won prizes at school, and accolades from their father, Grandad would make a special effort to take Connor to football practice or whatever he was doing after school, and praise his achievements.
Connor let his thoughts linger in the past. He recalled some of the fun times he’d had with Grandad, whether it had been making camps in the woods, playing in the park, or listening to Grandad’s stories about the trials and tribulations of growing up in a poor Irish family.
Even from a young age, both boys were convinced he made most of it up, but they loved the stories just the same.
When Connor made his debut on The Challenge, Grandad insisted on recording it so he could show all his friends later on.
So when had Connor started taking Grandad for granted?
When did it become okay for Patrick to shoulder the responsibility for looking after Grandad as he got older and less able to do the everyday things Nan had done when she was alive?
After the filming was complete and he was back in the UK, he would make sure he lived closer to his family. Provided he didn’t spend money like he used to, this contract would give him the freedom to choose for the first time where to live and what to do.
*
The travelling seemed to go on forever. The couple sitting next to him ordered several glasses of champagne throughout the flight to celebrate their engagement.
Apparently, the question had been popped in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard while on holiday, and they were going home to plan their wedding.
Connor knew all this because despite the fact he’d shown an inordinate lack of interest, they took it in turns to tell him the whole story until thankfully the lights were dimmed and he pulled the thin airline blanket over his head.
He managed a few brief periods of sleep, but by the time he reached the hospital mid-afternoon the following day, the symptoms of jet lag were already creeping up on him, and his body clock felt seriously messed up.