Chapter Five
Five Weeks Left
The hours tick by and before I know it the office has cleared out until it’s just me and Xander. Again. He had left the office around 2 p.m. and come back a couple of hours later looking slightly dishevelled, his hair ruffled as if a hand had been running through it constantly. My brain went back to the idea that he was on a date. Some afternoon delight potentially? God, what a pig! Could he not have waited until after hours or the weekend like a normal person would?
We’ve been working silently across from each other for hours. I’m so aware of him. His too-loud typing. His breathing, interrupted by the occasional sigh when a group email comes through. Slack notifications. Ping. Ping. Ping. Can’t he mute his computer? He doesn’t look in a hurry to ignite a conversation. Great. Guess it’ll have to be me then.
‘Did you have a nice afternoon?’
‘Worried about me, Yazza Dazzler?’
He turns on his chair and faces me.
‘Ha! In your dreams!’
‘So should we get the show on the road?’ he says.
‘100 per cent. I was born ready.’
He inclines his head towards me. His emerald eyes sparkle even under the office’s unflattering overhead lighting. There’s something gentle and coaxing in his voice as he says.
‘Shall we do it on your desk or mine?’
My mind halts… He’s not saying what I think he’s—
‘To work on, Yara… Which desk should we work on?’
I glance at his face, and he has that stupid smirk, which is probably the closest thing that I’ll get to a smile tonight.
‘Yes, the desk… I guess we can do it on yours!’
I manage to cough out. I bow my head and try to hide my reddening face with some stray curls of hair. My brain catches up to what my sentence may sound like and I quickly say.
‘To work on, obviously, like you said.’
I think I may have just managed to salvage the conversation. I really need to get my head out of the gutter and focus on this damn project.
My head is still down but I take a peek through the gaps in my hair to glance at Xander. Unfortunately, he looks as good as ever. He leans back on his chair and kicks his red trainers up onto his desk. How he managed to get his hair back to the way it usually looks from how messy it was earlier is beyond my comprehension. Maybe it just falls back perfectly within a few minutes, back to its natural, flawless order. That would be just typical. Self-consciously, I try to wrangle my ever-unruly curls.
I gather my things and head over to Xander’s desk. Usually, these workspaces only have room for one chair, but you can probably just about manage to fit two. Although it’s going be a very tight squeeze…
I’m not sure why neither of us suggested heading to the meeting room, which would be much more spacious. But seeing as I’m here now, I guess I’ll just make myself comfy. I survey my surroundings, grab the nearest chair and take it back to the desk. We get started, and my shoulder brushes his. My skin instinctively prickles with electricity from being so close to him – that familiar irritation again. It’s like my body just senses how much he aggravates me. I try to ignore it.
Over the next few hours, we make great progress and finally agree on a solid outline for the episode. But we keep butting heads over what will happen at the end. It needs to be big. Dramatic. Appeal to every viewer’s emotions. My opinion is that Layla, the main character of the show and the fey queen, should finally reunite with Atticus, the morally grey lord of the underworld who everyone hates to love. In the last scene, they should kiss. Which is what the audience has been asking for since the start of the show six seasons ago. We know now that Layla and Atticus were childhood sweethearts but, separated by circumstance and their competing duties to their families, they’ve been forced into war. This season has raised the question of whether they could reconcile. This has been the slowest slow burn in all of TV history and I feel like this season is the one where we finally give the fans the resolution they’ve been craving.
But Xander is not on the same page as me. I’ve seen the guy’s Letterboxd top four: Scarface, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Reservoir Dogs and the 1990 Othello with Ian McKellen. The man loves a tragedy and that’s exactly what he wants for the finale too.
‘Yara, all I’m saying is that not everything has to end in a happily ever after.’
We’ve been agonising over this for the past hour, and I’m about rip my hair out from frustration.
‘I know that, but the last few seasons ended in heartbreak after heartbreak. Layla and Atticus have both lost friends, family in the war. The viewers have lost those characters too. I think it’s time that we give people what they want. And what they want is a resolution to their favourite love story. It’s the beating heart of the show.’
Even though this is a fantasy series, it’s the romance subplot that has kept people watching – and kept our viewers increasing year on year. Ever since season one, when there were no plans to have Layla and Atticus end up together, people saw their chemistry on screen and their potential. It’s those two characters that have got people talking about the show online, through forum threads, ships and fan edits. From that point onwards, it was our job to plant the seeds of a budding romance in each season that would slowly build up to a climax.
‘You can’t be that naive,’
Xander says.
‘Yes, they have an incredible chemistry together, but they would never last because love like that doesn’t exist. This all-consuming romance that you’re after is unrealistic and we’ll lose momentum for future seasons the second they get together. They’ll only ruin each other and I think it’s better to set the standards now than to eventually break fans’
hearts in the future.’
I gape at him.
‘It’s a show with dragons and fairies, but it’s too unrealistic for two people in love to stay together? Of course, you of all people wouldn’t believe in love. What would you know about it anyway?’
‘Let’s keep this professional, shall we?’
His face hardens and his body tenses as he lets out a cold chuckle. I can’t help but think I’ve overstepped and I want to snatch the words right back, but it’s too late.
He coughs, shakes his head.
‘Anyway, I still think we should go with my idea. Atticus is already an established villain. Yes, he has some good traits, hence why everyone ships him with Layla. It’s what makes him so interesting. But at the end of the day, those traits could easily be corrupted, which is why him betraying her is the ultimate ending. Already enemies, fighting for different sides of the war. It makes more sense for the story.’
And what a tragic ending that would be. In theory, the idea is good. Great, even. Which is why he’s the celebrated writer that he is. But I’m still set on the idea that a romantic ending would be a better fit, not to mention a more popular option with the audience.
All of a sudden, we’re interrupted by a loud rumbling noise. I look around, trying to pinpoint where it came from. I’m slightly concerned because it sounds akin to a growling bear who’s looking for his next meal. Are there bears in London? I have the urge to check the news for any recent escapes from Battersea Park Zoo. It isn’t until I look at Xander that I realise he’s staring intently… at me.
Oh no. I know what that really loud grumbly noise was. This cannot be happening. It wasn’t a bear. It was my stomach. I look at the time and am shocked to see that it’s past ten o’clock. We were so deep into brainstorming that somehow several hours have passed and we didn’t even notice.
‘When was the last time you ate?’
Xander asks, his dark eyebrow quirked up. Another growl comes from my left side.
‘Um, maybe a couple of hours ago,’
I say. That’s a total lie. In truth, I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, but he’s giving off this intense vibe that means I don’t want to tell him the real answer.
‘Don’t lie to me,’
he demands in a gruff voice. If I close my eyes and imagine the way he’s talking right now in another setting, I feel like I’d be kind of into it. I shake my head. These intrusive thoughts about Xander have been happening more and more in the past week. I need to get back on the apps and go on a real date some time soon.
‘Me lie to you? I would never do that,’
I say innocently.
‘Yara.’
‘Fine! I haven’t eaten in hours. I usually eat around seven, but we were making such good progress, and it was going so well that it just slipped my mind. Look, it’s no biggie, I’ll just eat when I get home… or maybe tomorrow morning actually, because it will be quite late when I get in—’
I start to ramble, but I cut myself off when I realise that he’s grabbed his phone and started to aggressively swipe his screen.
Bit rude, seeing as I was mid-sentence. But I’m used to his cold moods. It’s silent for a few minutes and I wonder what he’s doing. His dark brow is furrowed in concentration.
‘Hello? I thought we were working on this together?’
‘We are. But in order to do so you need to eat. I’m buying you dinner. Well, ordering it.’
‘I told you I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine. This is not fine. You should have let me know when you were starting to feel hungry!’
Once he’s placed our food order, we quickly get back to work and continue to clash heads over the final scene.
Forty minutes later, the food has finally arrived, and Xander heads down to reception to collect it.
At this point I’m absolutely famished.
If I was a Tamagotchi I would’ve died by now.
Xander didn’t even bother to ask what I wanted.
Who even does that? What if I hate what he’s chosen? Although at this point, I will pretty much eat anything.
Now that I have a moment’s silence, I tilt my head up to the ceiling and take a deep breath.
God, it’s been a long day.
I close my eyes and feel I could fall asleep right here on my desk chair.
I soon get a whiff of something delicious and my eyes snap open.
I imagine I look like one of those sniffer dogs at the airport.
Xander comes strolling in with several bags in his hands.
What could he have possibly ordered? Judging by the smell, maybe something with chicken… or beef! He holds his hand out to me, and I stare at it blankly.
I must’ve taken too long because he reaches for my hand and starts dragging me to one of the empty meeting rooms.
My gaze flits across the table, where Xander is starting to unload a banquet of gorgeous-looking Korean food.
I glance at the logo on the carrier bag and recognise it as being from the place round the corner from the office.
Wow, he went kind of overboard.
I quickly pull out a chair and take a seat when I see him staring at me expectantly.
‘Eat,’
he says gruffly.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I start to absolutely devour everything on the table, having mislaid my ladylike manners somewhere around three hours ago.
I start with the kimchijeon and make my way round the table inhaling everything in sight: tteokbokki, bibimbap, fried chicken, the whole lot.
Xander juggles a plate between his hands like a ball and then holds it steady, starting to load it up generously with his own portion.
We eat in silence, both of us wolfing down the mouthwatering sweet-salty-sour combination of the dishes.
I slow down only once I start to feel full, and I become aware of my surroundings again.
For a moment, I forgot that I wasn’t alone.
I purse my lips in embarrassment.
I look at Xander, expecting him to be in a fit of laughter at my full Neanderthal hunter-gatherer transformation in the face of a spot of hunger and a plethora of Korean food.
But instead he’s looking at me with something like contentedness. I assess myself and realise I feel it too. It must be all the delicious food – for both of us. Any tension from earlier has now left his body, and he appears to be relaxed.
‘So, you said that you need this, the finale,’
I say, thinking about our conversation earlier.
‘Why’s that?’
Xander shrugs, and suddenly looks embarrassed about the remembered comment.
‘I’ve been doing this on my own for a long time. Writing is kind of lonely and you spend a lot of the time wondering if you’re actually any good at it.’
He looks up and I nod my head encouragingly in agreement. I know the feeling.
‘If I write an amazing series finale—’
‘If we write an amazing series finale,’
I correct.
‘If I write an amazing series finale and get top credit, then I suppose I’ll finally know for sure that I’m good enough.’
He stares ahead. I can see he’s retreated into himself. There’s something a little desperate about how he says it. There’s a lack, a need in him that he feels like he has to fill. His head jerks up and he looks alarmed that I’m still here, listening to him. His cheeks have pinkened, like he’s ashamed of having revealed too much.
‘Plus,’
he continues, his tone harsher and more guarded now.
‘if I get this, I’ll be able to write whatever I want next.’
‘Exactly!’
I say, excited that we share the same thought process.
‘And what will that be for you?’
‘I dunno.’
He shrugs.
‘Some auteur cinema with lots of moody shots that’s about man’s search for meaning?’
He smirks.
‘Am I really that obvious?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And what about you? Is it going to be a sugary-sweet rom-com where they hate each other at the start, but eventually fall in love and everything is flowers and rainbows and starlight at the end?’
‘You can’t have rainbows and starlight in the same scene. Just imagine the viewer complaints, c’mon?’
I say. But he’s right. I have always dreamed of writing my own rom-com.
‘Well, so what if that was what I had in mind?’
‘Knew it,’ he says.
‘And what would be wrong with writing a rom-com?’
‘Nothing,’
he says.
‘Just dousing the movie-watching public with yet more unrealistic expectations about romance. Because in all these movies, we never show the audience what happens after the credits roll. Because these things, love stories, they always, always end.’
‘You can say I’m an optimist and naive and whatever else,’
I say.
‘but I just don’t think that’s true.’
‘We can agree to disagree.’
For once, we have a truce. I look over at him sadly, wondering what led him to this place where he’s given up on the possibility of closeness and lasting love. He sounds so certain that everything good must end. He presses his lips together and glances over at me. It’s like he’s looking for my approval. The atmosphere is charged, humming with something faint but undeniable.
‘Well, that was amazing, thank you,’
I murmur and lower my gaze, surveying what little is left of the meal. Korean food is one of my all-time favourites. How did he know about that? And now that I look at the plastic trays on the table, I realise they’re all my favourite dishes too. Probably a lucky guess…
‘Don’t thank me for doing what anyone else would’ve done,’
he quietly responds. There’s a lot of people who wouldn’t, but I don’t mention it, seeing as we seem to have reached some sort of peace. For once, I don’t want to bicker with him.
‘Right.’
I clear my throat and start to tidy the mess, largely caused by me. Until his large hands land on my arms, stopping any movement.
In a flash, he removes his hands as if the touch electrocuted him.
‘Don’t. I’ll do it.’
He empties the table in no time. He’s almost frantic, not quite looking at me. There’s an uncertain energy between us. I feel aware of how small the meeting room is. His body moving around mine. He did a kind thing and the goodness of it emanates throughout the room. Or maybe it’s just the left-over hot food. I stand there in a daze, partly because I ate too much and am now entering the food coma stage. And partly because I’m unsure how to deal with this new, unfamiliar ground we’re on.
‘Maybe we should call it a night,’
he says once he’s finished clearing everything up and the room has returned to the way it was before.
‘Yeah…’
I say.
‘Thank you for dinner.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
His lips tease a smile. We awkwardly stand there for a few moments, neither of us sure what to say to each other. It’s kind of ironic, two screenwriters who can’t think of a single line of dialogue. I move away and exit the meeting room, his footsteps following mine. I gather my things and throw them in my bag.
‘Yara,’
Xander’s voice calls out behind me as I’m heading towards the door. I turn round and I see him waving a phone. My phone, to be precise.
‘You forgot this.’
He runs up towards where I’m standing.
‘Right, thanks, I wouldn’t want to be caught rummaging around your drawer again for it,’ I joke.
He’s silent for a moment, before he bellows out a laugh, and I stare at him in wonder. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh like that before, like he actually means it, rather than the fake laughs he does at work for Meagan and the senior writers, flattering them.
I go to leave again and I hear his loud shout in parting.
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You still owe me one, Yazza Dazzler.’
This time I don’t turn round.