Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Lucy doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You’ll be back in a few days.”
Ben has the decency to make eye contact at least. “Sorry, Dad. It just…hurts too much to talk about it.”
I raise an eyebrow, stare down the patronising little shit. Though I have to admire his acting skills. “Should have studied drama at college instead of graphic design.”
“Never know what the future holds. Maybe you’ll be rigging up the electrics on one of my films someday.”
“You’re certainly dramatic enough,” I say, chuckling. “In all seriousness, help your mother out when I’m not here. The both of you. Clean up after yourselves. Do the dishwasher. Empty the bins. Don’t leave everything for your mum. You hear?”
“Yeah, yeah. Got it,” Ben agrees.
“Lucy?” I press when she continues to scroll on her phone in silence.
“Yep. Dishwasher. Bins. Cry over absent father. Understood.”
Lucy’s right. I am only going to be gone for a few days, but damn I’ll miss these kids, even their bloody cheek. They’re two of the smartest and funniest people I know. And I made them. I nod proudly to myself. We did good, me and Becca.
“Right, I’m off,” I announce, sliding out from the dining table. “You can start your helping-out duties straight away by clearing away these breakfast dishes. They better not be here when your mum gets home.”
Ben gives me a thumbs up. Lucy mumbles something akin to a ‘mmhmm’ noise.
“No hugs?”
Now they both glance up, if only to relay an expression of disgust, noses shrivelled as if I’d just asked the pair of them to suck my fucking toes.
“Nope? Well, love you too, kids. Look after each other.”
It’s hard not to feel a tad dejected as I pick up my bags and make my way to the front door, until I hear, “Love ya, Dad!” and “Miss you!” followed by laughter and giggles just before I open it.
Now it feels right. Now I can go. I’ve said goodbye to the three most important people in my life and, for the first time, I’m off to do something which feels awfully separate. Independent, almost. In a bizarre and maybe selfish way, I think it might possibly feel liberating.
I’m excited.
Setting off in my new van, I still can’t quite believe my luck. It’s not a brand-new vehicle and I secured it on a three-year finance, but it’s mine. It’s taking me to my new job. It’s providing something I feared I’d lost. So yeah, I frigging love my new van.
Only wish I could offer Rick the seat next to me. Poor sod starts work for his brother next week. Best I could do is assure him that if I find my feet in the film lighting and grip industry, work my way up to a position where I hold any kind of influence, he’ll be the first one I’ll bring aboard.
My official title is Head On-Set Electric Assist. I like the sound of it. I’m also grateful I’m not being thrown in at the very top, that I have a couple of bosses above me, given I’ve no bloody idea what I’m walking into. Luckily, Andrew Cobbe appears to have more faith in me than I do myself.
The drive south takes around six hours with a couple of pit stops for coffee and calls to Becca. I head straight to my hotel today, the expenses of which are being covered by the production company as part of my charges because, apparently, I can do that. I can do that even though I’m staying in a fancy-arse four-star rated place that Andrew recommended.
When I enter my room on the fifteenth floor, which isn’t even halfway up the gigantic building, I decide Becca is going to have to take a couple of nights off work and come down here with me some time. We’ve never stayed anywhere so posh. Or maybe she has. It’s only now I realise I have no idea where she stays when she travels for work. Her bank might have huge budgets for all I know. The thought lays in my stomach like stone, weighing me down. It’s so discomforting, it drags me onto the plush chair by the window.
My previous excitement morphs into unease. I’ve never done this before. Been out here, alone in the world. I’ve never done anything without Becca. Sure, I go to work. I’ve been home by myself. But I’ve never actually lived autonomously. At a time when I should’ve been discovering myself, making mistakes and exploring boundaries, I went from being a kid ordered around by an unreasonable dad to a married teen.
I’ve never stayed in a hotel without my wife. Haven’t needed to. I’ve never been on a night out without her. Haven’t wanted to. I’ve never deeply confided in anyone else, relied on anyone else, needed anyone else. I call Rick my best mate, but we never get together outside of work. Does that make us best…colleagues?