Chapter 28
Violet
Violet pushed the door marked pull, swore, then yanked it hard back the other way and clipped herself on the cheek with the edge of the door as she barrelled through.
‘Fucking fuckity fuck’s sake!’
Her face throbbed and her eyes watered. In the week since she had broken things off with Finn, Violet had done her best not to cry, not even at home, and now here she was, her eyes streaming anyway.
She gingerly pressed her fingers around her cheek.
Not broken. Just another injury resulting from her distracted clumsiness these past few days, to add to the slice on her finger where she slipped cutting cheese.
Clutching the box of freshly printed scripts she had fetched from production, she forced herself to set one foot in front of the other.
She had developed some sort of Finn Radar over the past few days.
She sensed where he was at all times and did her best to keep away.
Although she hadn’t seen much of him since she spoke to him in his apartment, he was, of course, everywhere.
His name was in her instructions every day, whether she was being told she was with him and Jennifer, or that someone else was.
She saw his driver, Geoff, most days, leaning against his car at unit base.
She was friendly with Kathy, his costume standby, who thought he was a dream to work with and said so often.
Sometimes there was no escaping direct contact.
She was actually required to be near him for work.
She had dropped off a coffee order to him and Jennifer that morning, and he had given her a half smile that barely lifted his cheeks.
There was no crinkle around his eyes. My god, how she missed the crinkles.
She replayed pictures in her head of Finn laughing, smile broad, head half back, eyes sparkling and crinkling in a fan around the edges.
It was torture to be so close to him and yet utterly distant. And all of her own doing.
Back on the sound stage, Violet sidled around the edge of the set and dropped the box near the video tent, radioing Jake that it was there.
She stood in the shadows near the green room and watched as Karen, the standby props person, showed Finn which bottles to throw.
In the scene they were shooting, Nathanial gets frustrated and upset and smashes a bottle.
Violet wished someone had a row of bottles lined up for her to smash.
Finn glanced up suddenly as if he had sensed her watching him, and his gaze met hers.
She ducked away behind the walls of the set as though she had been found guilty of something.
The noise level and hustle of activity on set increased suddenly, as it often did right before they were about to start, and crew started streaming off the set and into the sides of the stage. The camera assistant hurtled past her, pushing a flight case, and Violet stepped back out of the way.
Moments later, the 1stAD called for quiet, and a hush fell.
The director was huddled with Finn and Jennifer, both were leaning in.
Violet’s heart constricted as she looked at Finn’s face, his brow furrowed in concentration.
He was several inches taller than Ed, and his head was bowed as he listened closely.
Violet slipped into a spot out of Finn’s eyeline but with a good view of the set.
She would be able to see the scene, but he wouldn’t see her.
She didn’t want to be a distraction. They were shooting the scene where Nathanial tells Beatrice that they can’t be together.
They get upset and fight. Violet, knowing it was coming up, had read the scene several times to work it out of her system so she could hold it together at work. She was sure she’d get through this.
It’s Nathanial up there, not Finn. Nathanial, she chanted in her head.
‘Places!’ Jake shouted.
The last few crew scurried off set behind cameras, the boom rose into the air, and silence fell. Jennifer went into position outside the door that opened into the family kitchen and living space at Nathanial’s house.
‘And…action!’ the 1stAD yelled.
Jennifer—Beatrice—knocked at the door. Nathanial, seated at the table in front of a half-drunk bottle of ale, rose heavily and slowly went to open it. Beatrice barrelled inside, skirts swishing, pushing the door closed behind her and leaning against it.
‘Nathanial, my love.’ She clasped his hands in hers. ‘You didn’t meet me at the cottage. Were you delayed?’
Finn—Nathanial, Nathanial, Violet chanted—shook off her hands and turned his back on her.
‘No. I wasn’t delayed.’
Beatrice came around to stand in front of him, hands on his shoulders, looking into his face. Violet swallowed and looked away for a moment.
‘Nathanial, talk to me! What is it? Are you unwell?’
Nathanial shook her off again and crossed to the fireplace.
‘No, I am not unwell. Beatrice.’ He sighed. He rested his forearm along the mantlepiece and briefly bent his forehead to it, before turning to face her. ‘This can never work between us. We’re fooling ourselves.’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘What? Nathanial, no.’ Beatrice moved towards him. ‘We love each other. I don’t understand—’
‘What don’t you understand?’ Nathanial roared, grabbing the glass from the table and throwing it against the wall, where it shattered. Frustration shook through him in waves, his fists clenched, knuckles white.
The shock on Jennifer’s face in that moment was just that—shock, not acting. Violet watched as a hand fluttered to her mouth, and she recoiled from Finn.
On set, you could have heard a pin drop. The crew was collectively holding its breath. The tension in the air was palpable.
Nathanial was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes bright. Beatrice’s face was twisted in pain, her cheeks flushing as she started to cry.
‘This can never work between you and me,’ Nathanial spat.
‘I can see that now. And all we are doing by refusing to acknowledge it is prolonging the pain.’ His voice cracked on the last word, and Violet pressed a hand over her mouth to stop any sound escaping.
The raw emotion peeling off Finn snapped something inside Violet.
She stepped back into the shadows at the side of the set, pulling up her hood to hide her face as tears started to silently fall.
Nathanial, Nathanial, Nathanial, she chanted in her head. It’s not Finn, it’s Nathanial.
You asked for this, a voice in her head whispered. This is what you chose.
She had been the one to say it couldn’t work. Not Finn. So why did hearing those words come out of his mouth—wait, his character’s mouth—hurt so much?
She turned back to the set.
Beatrice was speaking now. Jennifer was leaning on the rough-hewn table in the middle of the little room.
‘You’re scaring me,’ she said in a choked whisper. Tears ran down her face. ‘I don’t understand what has changed between us.’
‘Nothing has changed, Beatrice,’ he shouted, then, in pained exasperation, ‘Nothing has changed, that’s just it. We have been fooling ourselves.’
Beatrice collapsed into a kitchen chair.
‘We come from different worlds, Beatrice. You’re used to having everything your heart desires. No one has ever denied you anything,’ his breathing was ragged, his eyes red and damp with tears. ‘But you don’t get to have me. The world doesn’t work like that. Your world doesn’t work like that!’
Beatrice was desperate, pleading. ‘Nathanial, my love, we can—’
‘Just go!’ he bellowed, flinging his arm towards the door. ‘Get out!’
Finn’s voice cracked, tears ran down his face, and his body shook. Jennifer stumbled as she made for the door and almost fell through it. It was the most powerful thing Violet had ever seen.
The scene was done. That was the last line.
For several moments, no one moved. Silent tears ran down Violet’s cheeks. The only sound on set was of Finn—Nathanial—drawing ragged breaths. In the quietest voice, respectful of what they had just witnessed, the First murmured, ‘Cut there.’
The bell rang, and the chatter started almost immediately as crew went to team leaders for instructions and started resetting.
But the talk was muted, respectful even, because of what they had just seen.
The crew resetting on set, including the props team clearing the broken glass and setting another breakaway glass in its place, gave both actors a wide berth and avoided eye contact.
Violet peeped through a join in the set flats. Finn was rubbing his face. Hannah, his standby makeup artist, stood in front of him, pulling tissues from her kit bag and handing them to him. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then stood still as Hannah touched up his makeup.
Her radio buzzed to life, Jake’s voice clear and business-like down the line.
‘Violet, can you check with Finn and Jennifer, please, see if they need anything. We’re going again once we’ve reset, so we’d like to keep them on set if we can.’
‘Copy that, Jake. On my way,’ Violet replied.
Violet’s heart ached to think of Finn putting himself through that again. She swiped at her eyes, bit her lip and took a deep breath.
Picking her way around kit trolleys and flight cases, she made her way onto the set where the director, Ed, was now talking quietly with Finn and Jennifer. Jennifer was rubbing Finn’s arm, and Violet felt instantly irritated.
Ed was nodding and smiling, then he squeezed Jennifer’s shoulder and slapped Finn on the back before going back to talk to the director of photography. Stacey, Jennifer’s makeup artist, led her to a chair and sat her down so she could put in eye drops.
Violet hovered nearby as Hannah stepped backwards to survey Finn’s makeup one last time. With a last flick of the brush, Hannah was done, then she retreated into the shadows at the side of the stage. Finn now stood on his own, leaning heavily on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
Violet felt like an intruder, walking up to him when he seemed so vulnerable and raw. But it was literally her job.
‘Uh, powerful scene,’ she said quietly, as she reached him.
She couldn’t ignore what she had just witnessed. The energy and emotion from the scene hung over set even now. Crew crept about as if they were at a wake.
Finn lifted his head and looked at her. He looked ravaged.
His eyes were redder than she had realised, and purple-grey shadows made him look tired.
She didn’t know how much of it was makeup and how much was from the scene she had just witnessed.
Or from the past week they had spent apart.
His shoulders were hunched, and the knuckles on the hand that gripped the chair were white.
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her and nodded.
She swallowed and ducked her head to hide her face.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked. ‘Water? Or maybe a cola? Maybe you need some sugar after all that…’
She wanted things to be like they were. She wanted him to argue with her, to tell her that a fizzy drink was a stupid idea, it would take twelve minutes off his life, he’d end up belching right as he was in the middle of his lines.
She wanted him to say he didn’t need sugar; he was sweet enough already.
But he didn’t. ‘Some water would be good,’ he said. ‘I think Jennifer would like some too.’
‘Of course,’ Violet said, grateful to have some action to undertake rather than just hover awkwardly in front of him.
She hurried over to the green room and returned with two fresh bottles of water.
‘Don’t look so worried, Violet,’ Finn said, as she handed him a bottle. ‘It’s just acting. Pretending. Nothing to worry about. You’ve seen plenty of this over the years.’
‘Yes, of course, but…’
But what? She had seen all sorts of emotional scenes play out time and again in front of her eyes. They were often moving, sometimes shocking, but none had pained her like this one.
‘It was very good, that’s all,’ she said in the end. ‘Very believable.’
‘Then I’m doing my job well,’ Finn said, staring at her.
Jennifer joined them then, her makeup all reset.
‘It was amazing, wasn’t it?’ Jennifer said, wide-eyed.
She unscrewed the cap from the water bottle Violet held out to her and took a long drink. She looked truly impressed, and a little taken aback.
‘I was like, wow, Finn, I knew you were good, but where did that come from?’
She gave a shrill, nervous laugh and dabbed a finger at the drops of water on her lips.
Violet had a feeling she knew where some of that had come from.
The costume team drew Jennifer away to make some adjustments to her dress for continuity, and for a moment, Violet and Finn were alone, surrounded by people.
‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ Violet asked for something to say.
Finn studied her for a moment. His expression was unreadable. At length, he said, ‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’
Then he handed back the half-drunk bottle of water and turned away.