Final Cut(6)

I didn’t know that then, though.

‘I think I could really do something here, Dan. Something fresh, and interesting.’

‘You know I love your work,’ he said, after a pause.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s just … I think it needs more.’

‘More?’

‘Yes. I think you should find somewhere with a story. Not something major, just a focus, something that people can talk about.’

I hesitated. I was broke, living in a shared flat, working behind bars whenever I got the chance, serving at tables, looking for admin work, trying my hand at a bit of journalism, though that paid next to nothing now. I had no parental funds to draw down, nobody I could go to, cap in hand.

‘Okay,’ I said, and he smiled and said he’d make some calls.

It was a couple of weeks before he invited me back into his office. ‘So I heard from Anna at Channel Four,’ he said as I sat down. Hope rose like a bruise.

‘And?’

He grinned. ‘Congratulations.’

‘They’re going for it?’

‘Well, they’re offering three grand. They just want a taster. A few minutes. Ten, tops.’

A taster, just to give an idea of what I wanted to do. Then they could decide whether to expand it into a series, a one-off, or drop it completely.

But three grand? It wasn’t much.

‘They want it by the end of the year, and Anna wants to know about location asap.’ He paused. ‘Drink? To celebrate?’

For a second, I was tempted, but who knew where it might end up? And I’d promised my boyfriend I’d be back early; I couldn’t let him down. Not again.

‘I’m sorry, but I need to get on,’ I said, gathering my things.

Was he disappointed? I couldn’t tell. He walked me to the door.

‘You’ll have to make it amazing, Alex. But I know you can do that. You did it once, you can do it again. And don’t forget,’ he added, ‘you need a story.’

‘I’ll find one,’ I said. I had to. My second film had failed. This was my last chance.





4


My last chance. The car rounds a bend and I catch sight of the sea, a cluster of lights in the distance, nestled at the water’s edge.

Blackwood Bay. Tiny, tucked into its cleft in the hills; beyond it, cliffs and the endless coastline, shrouded in the gloom. The moonlight shines white on the rooftop snow. It looks beautiful but treacherous; it’s not hard to imagine the smuggling that used to go on here, clandestine activities in the filthy night. My body tenses in the seat, as if preparing to open the door and leap out, to take my chances in the wilds.

It was never the plan to come here. At no stage did the list of possible locations for my film feature Blackwood Bay. I knew exactly the kind of place I was looking for. One that had that indefinable something; like the feeling you get viewing a new flat when it already feels like home. Or the feeling of meeting someone in a bar, eyes across the room, nothing really, but as soon as you speak you know there’s something more, that you’re going to fuck. I looked at various places, but nothing grabbed me. Then a card arrived at Dan’s office and everything changed.

I was at home when he called me, researching some place in Oxfordshire with little to recommend it. He launched straight in.

‘I’ve never heard of it, but if you’re sure, then I’m sure.’

By now I knew this was typical Dan, to begin as if we were already mid-conversation. No doubt he had his phone on hands-free and was typing an email as he spoke, an intern hovering at the door with an urgent message from another hungry director.

‘Sorry?’

‘The postcard.’

‘What postcard, Dan?’

‘Blackwood Bay.’

At first I thought I’d misheard him.

‘What?’

He repeated himself, his voice reverberating thickly down the line, and this time I knew what I’d heard.

‘Blackwood Bay? What about it?’

My own voice echoed.

‘The card,’ he said. ‘It’s not from you? Weird.’ The word sounded like a shrug, and pointedly didn’t answer my question. ‘Anyway, you know it?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ I said, failing to hide my tetchiness.

‘I’ve had this card,’ he said, ignoring me. ‘Picture of a harbour on one side. Blackwood Bay. The message is How about here? I just thought it must be from you.’

My hands shook as I took a swig of coffee. It was too hot, and my throat began to burn.

‘Nope.’

‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

But it does, I thought. It does matter. I could feel myself begin to panic and forced myself to count my breaths. ‘No one else knows about the project, do they?’

‘Well, Channel Four do, obviously.’

‘They’re not likely to send postcards, though.’

‘True, but maybe it’s someone they’ve asked to sniff round. Anyway, this Blackwood Bay. You’ve been there?’

I considered lying, telling him I’d never heard of it.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Spent some time there as a child. I wasn’t impressed, to be honest.’

‘But it’s a possibility?’