3.
Although filming is thrilling, James feels more tired than he ever has done before by the end of the first day. He has always known that it would be draining, but the twelve-hour days of constant work is more than he bargained for. He loves it: the interaction with the cast and crew, the advice he gains and when it is his turn to have his one on one meeting with the director, David, he hangs onto every word the older man says.
He misses home, but at the same time, it feels good to get away from the hustle of the city. Suffolk is beautiful, with beaches and moors and although he has never been a great walker, James has taken to strolling along the beach in his spare time, revelling in the soothing sounds of sea against sand and the soft calls of the birds.
The house where they are filming is absolutely stunning. It had actually been on the housing market when David had found it- (“I love it,” he will tell anyone who listens, “I want to live here forever.”) Nobody can blame him; the house is absolutely gorgeous and looks almost impossibly clean, with near to 15 acres of land stretched around the magnificent buildings.
What James does enjoy is the hotel they are staying in. Despite the fact the whole cast and crew have taken up nearly all of the rooms in the small hotel, the members of staff have been nothing but welcoming and are always keen to improve their services, forever asking questions of,
“Are you sure you have everything you need? Are you sure?”
James is staying on the first floor of the hotel, where there are three other rooms, belonging to his co-stars: Nancy O Malley, Alice Butler and Oliver Haydon. It is true, Oliver isn’t nearly as bad as James first thought (not that he will ever mention this to Amy) but he finds that the other man’s constant cheer is almost unnerving. Of course everyone loves him, he’s just so enthusiastic it would be hard not to. He is also fabulous at his job, which makes James grind his teeth together- he had been secretly hoping that he would be the stronger actor of the two of them, but Oliver is so focussed and so genuinely believable at what he does it makes it hard to compare the two. James has already had to up his game and the most frustrating thing about the whole situation is that James knows that in the long run, it is good for him.
The only thing that James feels he truly beats Oliver in, is wit. He knows that he has a quick sense of humour (well, he grew up and lives with with Amabelle Clare, if he doesn’t retaliate then she will gladly eat him alive) and he fires comebacks at the other man over the dinner table until either Nancy or Alice kicks him under the table and tells him to,
“Stop being mean to Ollie, poor Ollie, James, don’t be a bully.”
However thrilling, however new, it really only takes fourteen days for things to start going downhill.
It starts with a headache that slowly becomes a cold which rapidly turns into a fever and before he knows it, he’s running off set to vomit into a nearby bin.
That’s the worst of it. After that he still feels sick but he manages to soldier on with limited complaining and if his temper is slightly shorter than usual, nobody says anything.
“David told me to give you these.”
The clock has just hit eight thirty in the evening and James looks blankly down at the two, white pills and the glass of water that are being held out to him, a suspicious expression fixed upon his face.
“What are they?” he asks in a monotone, blinking against the sudden glare of light coming from the hallway, “Bloody hell... Nancy. I thought that you of all people would have more tact when it came to trying to drug someone.”
“Your witty comments aren’t nearly as funny when you sound all blocked up and your nose is all red and shiny,” she replies loftily, but takes away some of the harshness of her words with a soft smile.
“Anyway... Ollie and Alice are down at the bar so I’d better go and grace them with my presence. Get some sleep.”
“Your concern touches me. Really.” James answers flatly, before swallowing the aspirin with a swig of water. He keeps hold of the glass and Nancy gives him a satisfied smirk.
“Anytime,” the dark haired girl says, before flicking her hair over her shoulder and starting back down the corridor, “See you tomorrow James.”
“Night Nancy.”
They are now three weeks in to filming and after the ‘vomiting incident’, James has developed something he would call ‘the flu’ and what Nancy would call ‘a slight cold,’ accompanied with the roll of her eyes. It’s true, he is a lot better than he was, but nevertheless, his head feels heavy, breathing through his nose is something of the past and anybody who is unfortunate enough to spend more than five minutes with him often has to tell him to,
“Stop sniffing, it’s disgusting.”
It has become so bad, that David had stopped him in the dining room that morning to tell him that he,
“appreciates the effort you are putting into the role, but I think it is best if you take the day off.”
James had thrown half-hearted excuses at his director, but eventually retreated to his room with a piece of toast and every intention to phone Amy.
Which he does, once he has woken up 3 hours later.
“You’re ill?” she says as soon as she picks up the phone, managing to sound both incredulous and concerned all at the same time.
“Don’t sound so surprised, everyone gets ill sometimes.”
“Yeah,” she laughs, “you more than others.”
“That’s not true,” he says sulkily, “not true at all.”
“What was it you said happened? You threw up in a rubbish bin? Stay classy James.”
He falls into silence, unable to retaliate. He feels sick, his head feels clammy and he finds that he just isn’t in the mood for Amy’s barbs and insults.
“Look,” he tells her, “I’ve been told to stay off work for a couple of days. I just… I don’t need this, okay?”
“Sorry,” she says airily and James has to bite his lip to stay quiet. She doesn’t sound sorry, she never sounds sorry, but James knows from experience that… that she just might be.
“Are you okay?” she asks finally, “I mean… besides the cold, and the being sick in bins and-”
“I miss you,” he tells her, “I miss home and I miss you and I just wish-”
“Idiot,” she says fondly, “I’ll be on the first train out.”
-x-
The first time Oliver Haydon lays eyes on her, no words are exchanged. She is sitting on one of the plush sofas in the hotel bar, James’s head and shoulders slumped in her lap, with the rest of his body stretched out, feet dangling over the edge of the armrest. His blonde hair is plastered to his forehead with perspiration, his fringe separating into individual strands. His breathing is somewhat irregular and the dark haired girl soothes his temperature with a cold flannel that has been provided by workers at the hotel- the small bag at her feet contains so much medicine it threatens to burst. It is the first time that Oliver has seen him appear anything less than completely full of himself and he feels strangely comforted that even the strongest of personalities have off days too.
He doesn’t think she even notices him as he walks by and he manages to make his way into the restaurant reasonably unnoticed, taking his seat in between Anthony and Jonathan, the eldest of the group of five that populate the round table.
“Poor James,” Alice Butler says sadly, gazing out of the door, straight past Oliver’s head, her dark eyes glittering with sympathy.
“It’s rotten luck isn’t it? Although he is intolerable- I went up to his room last night to give him some aspirin and he honestly thought I was trying to drug him. Although he doesn’t sound nearly as witty as he thinks he does when his nose is all blocked and his nose is all red and shiny.” Nancy O’ Malley chimes in, pouring Oliver a glass of wine and looking like she couldn’t care less about James’s overdramatic and somewhat childish behaviour. She sets down the wineglass firmly in front of Oliver, looking so fierce in her somewhat regal beauty that he doesn’t dare tell her that he doesn’t drink whilst working- simply nods his agreement as all five of them raise their glasses in a toast.
“To us,” Anthony says smugly, the wrinkles (“laughter lines!”) around his eyes creasing as he smiles.
“And to James’s health! May the poor boy get better in no time,” Jonathan adds in his low voice, which has become scratchy with age.
Oliver drinks.
-x-
James is back to filming the next day. The skin around his nose, just above his top lip is red and raw and his voice sounds restricted due to the amount of phlegm resting at the back of his throat.
“So who were you with last night?” Oliver asks him at lunch, where James is shovelling shepherd’s pie into his mouth with gusto, making up for the meals he didn’t eat the day before.
“When?” James asks, a bit of potato flying out of his mouth and landing on the table. Oliver wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Sorry,” James mumbles sheepishly, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “that was a bit disgusting wasn’t it?”
Oliver nods his head in agreement, but says,
“That dark haired girl, when you were lying on the sofa before dinner. You looked really rough!” he adds helpfully as an afterthought. James puts his knife and fork together and runs his tongue over his teeth before replying.
“Oh, that’s Amabelle. She’s my flatmate back at home.”
“Oh... how come she’s here?”
“She wanted to come and look after me,” James shrugs, “what can I say, I obviously just have this charm about me...”
“Yeah right,” Oliver says, unable to tell if the blonde is joking or not, “she probably just didn’t want you to die.”
“I wasn’t going to die,” James snorts indignantly. They sit in a tense silence- their sense of humour hasn’t quite clicked which results in far more awkward silences than they are comfortable with- until James coughs and says,
“I’ve known Amy since I was about eight years old. She’s my best friend.”
“Oh, I see,” Oliver says and winks. “That makes much more sense.”
“Whatever,” James shrugs, “anyway. You gonna eat that?”
He gestures to Oliver’s plate which is still loaded with a cheap attempt at mushroom risotto with a large helping of green beans. Oliver looks down at his meal and shrugs. He isn’t that hungry and he has lines to learn for a couple of weeks’ time. He shakes his head and pushes the crockery towards the other man.
“Go ahead and help yourself,” he says, “I think I’ll just grab some fruit or something, I’m not that hungry.”
James shakes his head in disbelief.
“I’ll see you later then,” Oliver says standing up- taking James’s empty plate from him as he does so. James simply waves a hand in acknowledgement, determined not to shower the Irishman with rice as he bids farewell.
Oliver passes the fruit bowl on his way out of the crowded tent, used as a canteen, but he is halfway through his next scene before he realises that he has yet again forgotten to take an apple to eat.