‘Sorry, yes,’ I reply, dragging myself back to the present. To reality. To my husband.
‘So what sort of shots do you want?’ asks Harry, wheeling his chair out from under the table. ‘Holding hands as we look out at the sea? Gazing moodily into the sunset together, that kind of thing?’
‘Not the sunset,’ I say quickly. ‘Sunrise, if we need to. But watching the sun go down makes me too sad.’
I feel all three of them looking at me. Feel their curiosity, their concern, their surprise.
‘Whatever you want, Elena,’ replies Em, smiling at me in a way that makes me wonder if she knows exactly why.
Chapter 20
The following day, we start filming in earnest. Em and Ollie have spent the morning with Harry, at his workplace.
I know he’s proud of it – rightly so – and he will use the opportunity to highlight the challenges he’s faced, that the people he works with and for have faced. He will be positive, but not shy away from difficult subjects. He really is at his best when he’s passionate, and his career brings out the fire in him.
While they did that, I went for a walk along the beach in an attempt to clear my mind. I made friends with two Irish setters, and I rolled down a sand dune like a child rolls down a grassy hill in summer. I was hoping to gain some clarity, but all I gained was twigs in my hair and a red face.
I took a shower, and was so worried about sounding unnatural and forced in the interview that I spent a while trying to rehearse talking into a mirror – which of course did not help in the slightest. It’s hard to practice being spontaneous.
It is now after lunch and I am back at home, waiting for Em and Ollie. Olivia has come home from college early and is pipping with excitement about it all, but pretending to be not at all bothered. It’s hard work being a teenager.
I am nervous, because it is my turn to start filming. I am not a natural, like I know Harry will be, and I am convinced that I am going to lose all power of speech once the cameras are rolling. I am worried that I won’t be able to revisit these difficult subjects with any calm or clarity. That I will cry, or clam up, or struggle to remember or remember too much.
‘They’re here!’ screeches Olivia, jumping up from one of the stools by the kitchen table when she hears a car pull up outside.
‘OMG!’ I reply, pulling a shocked face.
She flicks me the finger, and our brief spurt of mutual abuse helps to calm me down as I let them in, along with their various metal boxes and coils of wires and microphones.
Even the sight of it all makes my throat go dry. A worry flickers across my mind about electrical fires, but I am self-aware enough to understand that is not what is really worrying me. I am worried about doing this – about exposing myself, making myself vulnerable.
‘Nice place,’ says Ollie, gazing around him. ‘It’s very … minimalist. Very bright.’
‘I know,’ I say, filling the kettle. ‘The whole bungalow is. Harry’s great with his chair, but life is a lot easier for him – for us – if there aren’t too many obstacles.’
‘You should see her office though,’ says Olivia. ‘It’s like a charity shop exploded.’
‘This is Olivia, my sister,’ I explain.
‘Olivia … can I call you Liv?’ asks Ollie, and I suck in a breath and await the tirade. He has immediately stumbled upon one of her pet hates.
‘Only if I can punch you in the face,’ she replies, sweetly.
‘Oooh – feisty!’
‘Why do men call women feisty like that?’ she asks, frowning and looking genuinely interested. ‘It’s like, women who disagree with something or have a bit of self-belief are always called feisty, or kick-ass. Like those are our only two choices.’
Ollie seems to give it some thought, then responds, ‘Can’t say for sure, love, but as someone who is very aware of the nuanced power of language and its ability to oppress, I shall make sure I think twice in future.’
She regally nods her acceptance, and offers coffee.
Em is gazing out into the garden, at the sliver of the sea you can just about spot at the end of it. That’s the one element of my dream house that made it into reality, and it is a constant solace. It’s winter now, but on a bright and clear day the water shines shades of turquoise and blue, the most beautiful shimmer on the horizon.
‘Harry said he was staying late to catch up on the work he missed today. Alison – the office manager? – was there as well,’ she says. ‘He’ll be back about seven, he thinks. Impressive set-up he has there, isn’t it? He really has done such a good job of … I don’t know, winning at life somehow?’
‘Yep,’ I say, letting out a small laugh. ‘It’s one of his specialities, bless him. And he does a lot of good for people along the way. How did it go, the interview?’
‘Good,’ replies Em firmly. ‘Really good. Harry remembers different things, as does everyone – the aim is to piece them together to get a coherent picture, like a big, gnarly jigsaw puzzle. There’s a lot he’s forgotten, so hopefully you can help with some of it. Would you like to see? Feels weird, but I’m sure he won’t mind.’
