Chapter 2
Violet
Her hand itched to reach for the car door handle, but she took a breath and stayed where she was. It was possible to be too early.
Violet had been in bed at nine-thirty. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, unless she had been ill.
Most nights, during a theatre show run, she was still in work at that time, or maybe wrapping up and heading to the pub with the cast. She had been so worried about waking up that she had struggled to fall asleep, finally dozing off around one a.m, only to be woken in a panic by her three alarms four hours later.
She tried to remember the advice Anna had given her.
‘It’s not weird being an older trainee,’ she muttered into the quiet of the car. ‘Be on time, be nice, be helpful, be organised…’
Her left hand gravitated away from her towards the passenger seat, and her fingers fluttered over the handle of her rucksack.
She plucked at the carry handle as she mentally checked off a list of the things she had brought with her.
A4 notebook, A5 notebook, A6 notebook—she wasn’t sure which was most suitable, so she had brought three—a pencil case with two each of black, blue and red pens and two dangerously sharp pencils.
Highlighters in every conceivable colour.
A stapler, a large rubber, and a pencil sharpener.
Spare pair of socks and a spare pair of pants.
I mean, you just never knew what the day might bring…
. Some Sellotape, Blu-Tack, a pot of thumbtacks, a tape measure, a multi-tool and a pack of Post-its.
Plus a refillable water bottle, two protein bars, an apple and some Kendal Mint Cake.
They weren’t hiking up a mountain so far as the schedule showed, but you just never know when you need a massive burst of sugar…
. Violet was nothing if not overprepared.
Then, anxious that she hadn’t really packed everything she thought she had, she opened up the bag and peered inside, poking around until she had laid eyes on every item.
In truth, she had no idea what would be useful, so she had erred on the side of caution.
Or neurosis, take your pick. She shook her head now as she eyeballed the Kendal Mint Cake.
She was at a studio a few miles off the M62, not hiking through the Pennines.
Her right leg was jiggling, her knee bouncing up against the steering wheel column. Violet took a clumsy sip of coffee, and a dribble ran down her chin.
‘Shit.’
She swiped at it with the back of her hand, catching it before it dropped onto her jumper.
Glancing again at the time, Violet realised that her fretting had eaten up six minutes, and it was now 06:42.
Time to go.
Butterflies erupted in her stomach, and despite showering less than an hour earlier, her armpits felt clammy.
Too late to back out now.
She grabbed her overstuffed rucksack from the passenger seat, locked up the old car and marched, with more confidence than she felt, towards the stairwell.
Violet had Google-aerial-mapped the hell out of the studios and so knew from memory where she needed to go.
She emerged from the car park and started walking down the main internal road.
The February air was chill and damp, and she drew her big, hooded coat further around her.
Looming grey buildings on either side of a wide road were painted with massive twelve-foot-high letters stating Stage 1, Stage 2, and so on.
Huge shutter doors gaped open on one of them, allowing her to see inside the cavernous space.
A young guy in cargo trousers and a t-shirt passed her, leaning hard forward as he pushed a trolley laden with cables.
As she walked, the enormous sound stages jutted up into the dark, mist-filled sky, and a wave of emotion rolled over Violet.
It all suddenly felt so real, as if she was just realising for the first time that she had walked away from a successful career in theatre to take this wild stab at starting over in TV.
Her stomach lurched with excitement laced with terror and something like hysteria.
‘Turn right at the next gap between buildings,’ she whispered to herself.
As she rounded the corner, she could see the edge of white trucks, and relief coursed through her as she hurried towards them. A sea of white movie trucks was laid out before her. Violet gulped and was relieved to see a sign on one of the closest ones to her that read, Assistant Directors.
It was 06.47.
Early was on time.
She climbed the three metal steps, knocked on the door, then pulled it open.
Warm air rolled over her as she stepped into the truck, and bright strip lights scorched her eyes.
She stood in the little central lobby, a tiny sink and coffee station in front of her, and office-type spaces to her left and right, with long built-in desktops on each side.
A printer churned away in the left-hand office, and on the right, a dark head bobbed into view as a woman leaned back in her chair to see who the new arrival was.
‘Violet! Thank fuck you’re here,’ the woman exclaimed.
She recognised Rachael, the 2NDAD, from her interview.
‘Uh, yes. Hi,’ Violet said.
It seemed they were skipping the pleasantries.
‘Come in,’ Rachael was saying. ‘Have a seat there.’ Rachael grabbed a stack of printouts off a chair and nodded for Violet to sit. ‘We have a problem. Hi.’ She thrust out a hand and gave Violet’s hand one hard shake, then leaned back against the desk.
Violet’s imagination went into overdrive.
Oh god.
She had misread the email, and she was late.
Or they were over-staffed and didn’t need her.
Production was cancelled.
They had realised they’d hired the wrong person and were going to let her go before she’d even started.
As she catastrophised and watched her bright future dissolve in seconds in her mind’s eye, Rachael bent forward and leaned her elbows on her knees.
‘There’s been an accident on the motorway,’ she said. ‘Just my luck, fucking up the first day of shoot.’
Violet felt a jolt of relief that she wasn’t being fired. And then sent up a silent prayer for those involved in the accident.
‘It’s okay,’ Rachael said, with a wave of the hand. ‘No one is seriously hurt. Just causing miles of tailbacks that I don’t need.’
She ran a hand through short, ruffled hair.
‘So I need your help,’ she said, clasping her hands together and pointing her index fingers at Violet like a gun. ‘Half our team is stuck in traffic, including our base runner, Chloe.’
Violet nodded and shifted her rucksack on her lap. There was a quiet sound of metal clinking as the stapler or the tape measure banged against the multi-tool.
‘I know it’s your first day, but I need you to help me run things here at base. Can you do that?’
Rachael’s intense grey eyes were fixed on her. Her fingers were still pointing at Violet’s chest, awaiting her answer.
Violet had no idea what helping at base meant, but no doubt here was a chance to show her grace under pressure and make herself indispensable by shining in a crisis.
‘Of course,’ she blurted, glad to be of use. ‘You’ll need to tell me what to do and—’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rachael flapped a hand at her.
‘I’ll run you through it. Luckily, most of our key cast are coming in via other routes and avoiding the motorway, so we can keep going.
You’ll need this,’ Rachael thrust a call sheet into Violet’s hands.
‘And these.’ She handed Violet some sides, the A5 printouts of the script pages that were being shot that day.
‘Everything you need is on the call sheet, including cast arrival times. As cast get here, you’ll meet them at their cars, walk them to their trailer, get them a coffee, breakfast, whatever they need, then, when I tell you, take them to make-up.’
Violet blanched at the thought of navigating her way around the ocean of white trucks.
As if reading her mind, Rachael said, ‘I know all these trucks look the same, but you’ll get used to it.
Main cast are closest to us, then day players, makeup, costume, etc.
Names of characters - not cast names - are on the doors, and other trucks are labelled as what they are - transport, makeup, costume, etc. You’ll soon find your way around.’
‘Sure,’ Violet nodded. She would figure it out. ‘So do I—’
‘Take this.’ Rachael held out a radio and an earpiece. ‘You can use one, I take it?’
‘Yes, I did a course and—’
‘Great. Channel one. Keep it open. I need to be able to reach you at all times. And you can leave that,’ Rachael gestured at Violet’s bag, ‘under there.’ She pointed to the desk counter, which ran along the opposite side of the truck.
Violet’s fingers tightened around the handle of her rucksack. She nodded and decanted a pen of each colour and the A6 notebook into her coat pocket before reluctantly stowing the bag under the counter.
‘We’re due more cast in,’ Rachael glanced at the clock on the wall above her head, ‘in, oh, just a few minutes. You wait outside. Transport will radio as they approach.’
‘Sure,’ Violet said, in her best You can trust me to handle this voice. ‘Take them to their trailer, coffee, breakfast, then makeup when you tell me.’
Rachael flashed a quick smile as her phone started ringing. ‘Great, get to it.’
Violet pushed open the trailer door and stepped back into the dark of the early February morning. She didn’t notice the cold so much this time. She was a proper part of the team already. She was helping to run base on her very first day.
She smoothed out the call sheet Rachael had given her and stepped into a pool of yellow from one of the floodlights breaking up the dark, narrow walkways between the trailers.
It was a densely packed page in tiny font with everything every shooting crew member needed to know for the day, from which scenes were being shot, to who the unit medic was, department head contact information, the cast who were in for the day, and the weather forecast.
Violet skimmed down the page to the cast arrival times. Rachael had said their next arrival was just a few minutes away.
She ran a finger down the page, slowing as she got to the list of cast, checking the call times. There it was, an arrival at 07:00. The first cast member she would welcome in her new job. Her eyes slid across the page to the name.
Violet stopped breathing. She read the name again. She lifted the call sheet into the light. She whispered the name aloud to be sure.
‘Oh. Fuck.’