Chapter 1
Violet
‘Do you think I’m making a mistake?’ Violet asked as Anna filled their glasses.
She waved her hand at Anna, whose heavy-handed pour was sloshing wine into the large glass.
‘No more for me, thanks, I have to be up early.’
Anna grinned and shook her head.
‘Better get used to that.’
They were inside Anna’s cosy ground-floor flat, in a converted Georgian mansion.
The high ceilings and sash windows could have made it feel cavernous and draughty.
Anna had saturated the living room in a deep, dark blue that made it feel like a cocoon, and a fire sputtered in the grate, keeping the February chill at bay.
Rain tapped on the windows, but tucked up under a blanket on Anna’s squishy second-hand sofa, Violet was warm and toasty.
‘There’s no glamour behind the scenes, and this is not an office environment,’ Anna was saying as she tipped crisps into a bowl and nudged them towards Violet.
‘Dress like you’re going on a hike. Leggings or comfy trousers or jeans, t-shirt, warm jumper, etc.
Dark colours are best, black is ideal, which you should have plenty of from theatre.
It’s an unwritten rule on set because it helps avoid the cast or camera team being distracted by bright colours in their eyeline. ’
Violet, notebook open on her lap, scribbled furiously, lapping up every word Anna shared with her.
‘Sacrifice style for comfort,’ Anna continued and shot her a look as if she didn’t think Violet would find this difficult. ‘It’ll likely be a minimum ten-hour day, and you’ll be on your feet most of the time.’
Anna had polished off the first bottle with little help from Violet, and now, cracking open the second bottle of merlot, she chuckled and grinned.
‘You’ll see.’
Violet lifted her head from her notebook and tucked her unruly curls behind her ears, from where they sprang back out immediately.
‘Do you think I’m making a mistake? Is this a bad idea?’
Anna shook her head, sleek dark hair swishing from side to side. ‘No, not at all. It’s just going to be an adjustment. I think you’ll love it once you get into it.’
Violet grinned at her old friend. ‘I hope you’re right.’
Anna, legs folded under her at the other end of the sofa, leaned forward.
‘It will feel oddly familiar and completely alien all at once. You’re essentially doing the same thing - helping create stories to share with people.
You’ll see lots of similar roles there that you’ll know from theatre - costume, make-up, production personnel, accountants, set builders,’ she waggled her fingers, counting out of time as she listed.
‘But then you’ve got camera and grips and sound and script supervisors and SFX and more.
The hours are long, but,’ she threw back some wine, ‘not much longer than you do now. Just different working patterns.’
Violet nodded and slid her wine glass away from her on the coffee table.
She had barely touched it anyway, her five a.m. wake-up time making her feel as nervous as someone with an early morning flight to catch.
She had set three alarms on her phone and bought an old-fashioned alarm clock and put it across the room from her bed so she would have to get up to turn it off. She was taking no chances.
‘You’ve done that transfer course,’ Anna said. ‘What can I tell you that they didn’t cover?’
Violet sipped at her wine and considered the question.
After college, Anna had studied technical theatre at drama school, but soon after graduating, she worked on a daily basis for a locations team on a big film.
It was only supposed to be a gap-filler while she looked for theatre work, but she had fallen in love with the department and, within a year, was working solely in film and TV.
After losing her place at her first-choice school, Violet took a year out and gained some experience before gaining a place at the Northern School of Drama and Arts.
It wasn’t where she had originally wanted to go, but it was a good place to study.
She had lined up her first theatre stage management job before she had even graduated.
Although their paths diverged, Anna and Violet had stayed in touch over the years, swapping war stories and scandals from their respective jobs.
Anna occasionally shared her hankering for theatre, missing the live audience experience and the immediacy of the medium.
Violet, until recently, had had zero interest in working in film and TV, despite how fascinating Anna’s stories were.
Recently, after more than a decade as a stage manager, working on big touring shows and West End plays, Violet had begun to feel that her career wasn’t going anywhere.
She had a job that dozens of people envied, in which she was highly sought after and often booked many months in advance.
But no matter how many times she told herself how lucky she was or reminded herself how hard she had worked for years to reach this point, a nagging boredom had taken hold like a slow rot.
A restless itch for something new and challenging niggled at her, fed by the growing boredom.
She increasingly spent her time off googling things like, ‘how hard is it to change career in your thirties,’ ‘starting again in mid-thirties,’ ‘transferable skills’ or ‘books about career change.’ They all suggested she’d be well-suited to the creative industries, perhaps music or theatre…
And then one day, after falling down an internet rabbit hole that had seen her seriously consider packing up her life to go fruit picking in Australia for a year, she clicked a link about transfer courses for film.
They were aimed at people from theatre, the music industry, and events where there was a lot of crossover and similar skills were needed.
The courses aimed to help bridge the gap and help people make a smooth transition into similar roles in film and TV.
As Violet read, she found herself getting excited for the first time in a long time.
Anna’s stories came to mind, and suddenly, instead of light entertainment, they felt like light at the end of a tunnel.
She read and researched different roles, grilled Anna on the different departments, and finally decided to apply for the Assistant Director training course.
It was the sort of department that would utilise all her skills—organising, managing people, keeping things to time, solving problems, communicating information.
She told herself she wasn’t nervous, it was just an experiment, another option to consider.
The day she found out she was accepted onto the course, she walked around on a high.
She had options. She didn’t need to work in theatre forever if she didn’t want to.
The course was fun, and she felt stretched for the first time in a long time as she learnt everything from the hierarchy of a TV show to what a semi-continuous working day was, to on-set etiquette, to radio use.
But while the course was great and offered lots of pointers on finding film and TV work, she didn’t find any suitable entry-level jobs.
She got busy again with theatre work and, for a while, thoughts of film and TV faded into the background.
The itch had been scratched just enough to make it go away for a while.
Then one day, she got a message from Anna.
I know you were getting fed up with work, but I’m not sure if you still want to make the move into TV? You haven’t mentioned it for a while. Thought I would pass this on, just in case. It’s on the new show I am working on. x
The link in the message took Violet straight to the advert for a Trainee Assistant Director on a new period drama shooting in Yorkshire, her own home county.
Sitting in her hotel room in Southampton, where she was on tour with a musical production of Calamity Jane, Violet read the job description.
Scrolling down to the person specification, she scanned it.
She could meet everything they were looking for.
Her stomach churned with excitement, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
Okay, so it would mean a significant pay cut in the short term, but if she got to do something interesting and challenging, she would make it work.
But she was thirty-four. This sort of opportunity likely went to bright young things straight from college or university.
Would they take an application from a more mature candidate seriously?
It seemed they would. Three weeks later, she had an interview over Zoom.
They called her back and offered her the job the same day, citing her transferable skills and years of experience in a similar role as the clincher.
They did flag that she would likely be reporting to people somewhat younger than her, but Violet assured them that was no issue - she was just happy to be on board.
Traineeships like this were like hens’ teeth, she knew that.
Her new boss had told her she had beaten over a hundred other candidates to get the job.
No doubt younger, brighter candidates who had studied film at college and uni and whose favourite viewing was probably edgy, indie features, not binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal for the fourth time.
During her interview, she had rambled about admiring Quentin Tarantino’s oeuvre, even though she had only watched Pulp Fiction because she needed ideas for a Tarantino costume party. Thank fuck for Wikipedia.
So she was swapping one tough industry for another.
Her immediate reward was starting again at the very bottom of the ladder at the age of thirty-four and clawing her way back up, and getting up at five in the morning on her first day.
But for the first time in nearly a year, she could actually live at home, instead of making fleeting visits back to her little house in gaps on tour.
And Anna would be at home, too. For much of the past decade, they had been like ships passing in the night; when one had a break in work and was back in Yorkshire, the other was on tour or away on location.
Now that she had decided to try to make the transition herself and work as an Assistant Director, Anna seemed like a guru to her. Violet watched as her old friend wriggled down into the cushions at the other end of the sofa as a gust of wind rattled the sash windows.
‘Well,’ Violet hesitated. ‘The course covered all the technical bits. They went over how to read a call sheet and how to use a radio, and some of the different jargon used on set and stuff, but…’ Anna crunched on a handful of crisps.
‘What is it actually like on set? What will people be like? Is it weird that I am older? Ugh—I’m the world’s oldest trainee, aren’t I?
My bosses are all going to be teenagers. ’
Anna laughed. ‘I’m on the locations team, so I don’t really know what it’ll be like for you on the stages in the studio.
Just do what everyone else does, and you’ll be all right.
And no, I don’t think it’s weird that you’re older.
The AD team can be feisty because they have to be.
They run the show on set and keep things to time.
But they are charming to the actors, and you know how to do that, so you should fit right in.
Dealing with people is nothing new for you.
Film and TV is the original time is money - it’s always a tight schedule, and they have to get all the footage they need every day.
So, above all,’ Anna intoned, as she sliced the side of one hand into her palm on each word. ‘Be. On. Time.’
‘You know my maxim,’ Violet had replied. ‘On time is late. I am always early.’
‘Double down on that,’ Anna had said, nodding and reaching for the wine again.
Violet glanced at the time. Seven thirteen pm. ‘Oh god, it’s getting late. I’d better go. I have to be up at five am. I don’t remember the last time I was up that early. I’m not sure I ever have been.’ Violet could feel her pulse quicken with the anxiety of the early start.
Anna frowned and looked at the time, clocked the early hour, then burst out laughing.
‘You’ll get used to it. And just think - you work Monday to Friday now.
No more evenings and weekends running theatre shows, working when everyone else is out socialising.
I think this is an exciting move for you.
I am sure,’ Anna clapped her hands together, ‘that this is going to work out brilliantly and you’ll be offered another AD job before this one even ends. ’
Violet thought about her meagre bank balance and the risk she was taking on this traineeship as she stood and gathered her coat.
‘I really hope you’re right.’