Chapter 3
BY THE END OF THE FIRST full day of filming, Jess almost collapsed with mental and physical exhaustion, sure she’d been nothing but in the way.
Being on set was so far out of her comfort zone.
Laney, the director, had been super sweet and encouraging, but the doubt in her gut solidified into a solid steel anchor, dragging her down with it.
If she couldn’t do this job, would they replace her? Then the consultancy payment, the deposit on her dream home, and the chance to recreate her life would all slip out of reach.
She shook off her heels and tucked her feet under her on a threadbare couch in the lunchroom.
Leaning her elbow against the sagging armrest, she supported her heavy head with her hand.
Getting no sleep the previous night didn’t help but, as a midwife, long days were routine.
You slept when you could and pushed your way through the rest.
The director leant against the bench in the small kitchen area opposite. “Why don’t you join us for drinks tonight? Everyone’s heading down to the local tavern. The Five Stags, I think it’s called. You deserve it after today.”
Jess usually adopted a work-hard, party-hard philosophy, but she’d had more than enough of both for the past 24-hours. A few minutes earlier, she’d been swaying unsteadily on her heels with fatigue.
She shook her head. “I don’t know about deserving it. I was like a wide-eyed idiot in there today. I feel so bad about tripping up that cameraman, too. Hope he’s okay?”
Laney waved her statement away and scrunched her nose. “Ah, he’s fine. No biggy. Bit of a nosebleed. He’s tough. You should come! It’ll be fun.”
“Oh, poor guy.” Jess winced at the memory of the cameraman face-planting into the floor, tangled in wires and equipment surely more expensive than her entire worldly belongings.
“I’ll keep out of the way tomorrow, I promise.
I think I should get an early night though, tonight.
All I need is a greasy slice of pizza and a pillow.
I don’t even care if there’s a bed attached at this point. This lumpy couch will do.”
Laney’s face transformed, full lip pout and sad puppy-dog eyes. But, in what Jess had come to think of as Laney’s television-presenter perkiness, she bounced back quickly.
“The pizza I can help with,” she said, jumping towards the fridge.
In one effortless move, Laney swung it open and pulled out a pizza box. Did this woman never get tired?
The young director offered her a slice. “Sorry, it’s cold.
As for a bed, we can do better than that lumpy couch.
Tom’s the guy to see. He’s in charge of accommodation.
We found out there’s not a lot available at this time of year, and some of it’s a bit sus, but we have some cool host families and a bed-and-breakfast, if you’re lucky. A dodgy hotel if you’re not.”
Jess accepted the cold pineapple and ham pizza, thanking the director.
“This is perfect. I’m used to my pizza being cold from night-shift.
” Pineapple on pizza wasn’t her first pick, but she took a large bite, deciding it might just be the most incredible thing she’d ever tasted. The catering on set was world-class.
“Tom’s that old guy over there in the hallway behind the desk. See him? Grey hair. Polo shirt.”
“Thanks, I’ll learn who everyone is, eventually. Honestly, I’m so tired a cheap hotel sounds just fine. Give me a squeaky bed with cockroaches and I’ll be asleep in seconds.”
Extracting herself from the couch, she slipped on her heels and made her way to Tom, quickly chewing down the rest of her pizza slice and wiping at her lips.
Tom glared up at her as she approached, his harassed look giving her flashbacks of a grumpy old math teacher she’d had back in high school.
Feeling she was about to get told off, she tugged down the edge of her dress, threw her shoulders back and stood as confidently as she could muster in front of his desk.
“Ah, Laney says you have accommodation booked for me?”
Tom sighed, lifted a large battered folder from the floor as if he resented every second of movement, opened it, and scanned his finger down a list. “Jess Williams?”
“That’s me.”
“Bit last minute.”
“Yes, it—” Jess started to explain, but Tom held up a hand to cut her off. Definitely a reincarnation of her math teacher.
“We have you in a cottage.” He scribbled out an address and passed it to her.
“Sounds perfect. Thank you.”
Through Tom’s droning instructions about finding and unlocking the cottage, she tried to concentrate, and failed. Abruptly, he stopped talking. He returned the accommodation folder to the floor and his attention to another number-filled book.
She stood awkwardly in front of him for a second, clutching the scrap of paper with the address. Surely there should be a hall pass or a bell signalling the end of class? Realising Tom was done with her, she made her way outside to her car.
With peak traffic, the old Rangiora Hospital site was a two-hour drive from her flat in the suburbs of Christchurch City.
She’d considered driving back and forth each day, but Laney had insisted accommodation was sorted for everyone.
Now, after such a long day, and with a month of long days to come, it was a relief to have a room nearby.
It came as part of the deal, so why not?
Leaving her clients at the last minute still gnawed at her, but perhaps she could treat it like a summer vacation?
Away from work, away from the city, away from Dave.
A bunch of new workmates, who mostly seemed like good sorts.
She could easily avoid the ones who didn’t—Nate Mitchell immediately coming to mind.
Her best friend, Poppy, had promised to collect her mail and feed the cat, and told her to go enjoy herself. Yes, Jess decided as she reached her car; this could be fun after all.
FINDING THE COTTAGE IN THE DARK proved more of a challenge than she’d expected.
Jess plugged the address into her phone’s GPS and followed the British-accented instructions as they led her out of the township of Rangiora and into the surrounding rural area.
The streetlights faded into the distance, and Jess peered into the dark void.
Even flicking her headlights on to full beam hardly made a dent in the pitch-black, moonless night.
“I hope you know where you’re going,” she said out loud to her phone, “because this is getting creepy.” She turned up her music to break the eerie silence.
After a long stretch driving straight into the black night, the GPS told her to turn left and then, finally, announced her arrival at the destination.
In the dark, Jess could barely make out the small cottage.
From the shadowy shapes around it, the cottage appeared to be surrounded by enormous trees and a neatly hedged rose garden.
As far as she could tell, it was in the middle of nowhere, but then she could only see a few metres in front of her, so perhaps there were other houses.
Who would know? From the silence, Jess suspected any neighbours were quietly sleeping, or the cottage was actually as isolated as it felt.
She tried to shove thoughts of graphic horror movie scenes from her mind, regretting her movie preferences.
Why couldn’t you be a romcom girl? she scolded herself.
Then, taking a breath, Jess grabbed her suitcase from the back seat, flipped on her phone’s light, and walked down the path to the cottage, her heels unsteady in the loose gravel.
She shook them off as she approached the front door, holding them in one hand and dragging her wheeled carry-on behind her with the other.
Tom had said the key would be on a window ledge near the door. Dropping her suitcase handle, Jess shone her phone torch around the windows. The light caught on the key, already in the keyhole. The owners must have left it there, knowing it would be hard to find in the dark. How thoughtful.
The door opened with a slight shove, and the smell of roses, and something a little muskier she couldn’t pinpoint, greeted her. She flicked the switch near the door, flooding the quaint country-style room with light, and all her previous fears melted away.
The lounge and kitchen made one snug space with an open red-brick fireplace on one wall and, even though it won’t be needed for months, a tidy stack of wood piled up against the other, all ready for winter.
The owners had gone with a rose theme: a wood-framed painting of a pink bloom hung near the kitchen, rose-patterned curtains covered the two windows above the sink, and a bouquet of pink and yellow roses in a vase sat on the small wooden table.
That accounted for the scent of roses that met her at the door.
Jess placed her bag and heels near the door, locking it behind her, a cosy reassurance washing over her. It was all so cute and old-fashioned. She wouldn’t be surprised to find a chicken coop in the backyard or an apple orchard.
It was perfect.
In fact, it was the kind of house she’s been secretly dreaming of buying. Still a dream at this stage. She hasn’t even told her best friend Poppy, but living here for a month would be a taster of the future she’d been secretly imagining for herself.
She sighed with relief, and a tension she hadn’t known was there dropped from her shoulders.
Barefoot, Jess found the bathroom, complete with clawfoot bath and a gold-leaf decorative mirror, and pulled her fingers through her long hair. She turned on the hot tap, which ran warm immediately, and splashed water on her face. A small fluffy towel waited for her next to the sink to dry off.
Comforting, that was the word for this place.
It reminded her of days at her grandfather’s house. Everything laid out for her. Someone taking care of the details so she could relax. When was the last time she felt cared for like that?
Shimmying out of her black dress, she left it in a crumpled mess on the floor, almost expecting to find it hanging up and ironed in the morning.
Although that would be creepy. The summer night air felt warm enough not to bother rummaging through her bag to find pyjamas.
All she wanted right now was sleep. As quickly as possible.
In her black lace underwear, Jess switched off the bathroom and lounge lights and turned on the hallway one. She walked the short distance to the only other door in the cottage, endearingly labelled “bedroom” with a gold engraved plaque, and turned the handle.
WHAT A WEIRD DAY, NATE THOUGHT as he lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep.
He’d turned down drinks with Frankie and the production crew, too tired to socialise.
His mind was drained, and bursting, and muddled all at once: his dreamy thoughts flitting all over the place between scenes from the day and ones from his past he’d rather not remember.
All he needed right now was to be alone and sleep. Deeply.
He’d forgotten the intensity of filming. Screen acting felt like slipping on an old pair of shoes that fit, but no longer suited him. Was returning to acting a mistake?
He’d launched into that audition with fake confidence he now regretted.
The child-actor’s big return. Huh. More like a desperate attempt to escape his current failing personal life.
He shook his head at his past rash decision-making and rolled over, enjoying the softness of the sheets against his bare chest. At least the bed felt comfortable.
Nothing much had felt comfortable in his life since he’d caught his ex cheating.
Comfort had been something he’d taken for granted with Samantha.
When his work schedule allowed, he would stay at the gorgeous London apartment they’d bought together a year ago.
The minute he saw the apartment listing, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, polished concrete floors, and fantastic views from the balcony, he knew it was perfect.
He loved sitting out there with a glass of wine, just taking in the hustle and bustle of the city below. All his hard work, paying off.
Samantha kept it nice while he was gone, too.
And he was gone a lot. She was an interior designer and enjoyed her luxuries: silk sheets and plush leather furniture, great coffee and even better food.
There was a comfort in knowing she was there for him after a long week at work.
His job was often uncomfortable and draining, in a different way to acting, and it was nice to know he had someone to go home to.
To know he had her curves to snuggle up against, her soft sweet hair to bury his face into, her sparkling laugh, intelligent conversation…
no, he couldn’t let himself go there. Rage boiled up, consuming the sadness below it. Samantha was gone and—
The sound of a door opening and closing again caught Nate mid-thought.
Was that the neighbour? He sat up and listened, muscles tense.
No, someone was definitely moving around the house.
Before Nate could clear his head enough to take action, the bedroom door opened and light flooded into the room around a very familiar silhouette.