Page 3 of Between Takes
Bang.
I jumped as she popped the cork on the bottle of champagne she held. I pulled my short pink hair back into a small but messy ponytail and sighed. I had two days to pack up my life and move. There was no time for hairbrushes or showers or make-up.
There was also no time for champagne and getting very, very drunk, but Isla wore a huge grin I couldn’t refuse. The pride shining in her eyes was my undoing. It had been a while since I’d felt deserving of it. Besides, a move like this was huge. Why shouldn’t I celebrate a little?
Despite my frazzled state, I accepted the glass with an answering smile of my own.
I’d found Isla in my flat with packages of flat-packed cardboard and alcohol when I got home. Now, we stood surrounded by boxes, most of them empty. Assembling them had been a sweaty feat that came with a lot of swearing and one too many paper cuts. Who knew you could get a paper cut from a cardboard box!
“How did quitting go?” Isla took a seat on the arm of my sofa.
I pulled a face and stuffed a wrapped plate into the box.
“Did he blow up?” Isla chuckled. “Oh, please tell me he made an absolute fool of himself?”
“Is, get real.” I rolled my eyes and continued wrapping kitchenware. “He was gleeful, belittling me and my life choices. I bit my cheek and waited through it. It was all pretty smooth sailing after that.”
Isla blinked at me, a frown forming between her brows. “No comment on the work you’d be leaving unfinished.”
“I offered to do a handover, but he didn’t want me to finish up any of my projects because, and I quote, my ‘work ethic would make a mockery of his highly respected clients’.” Read: tiny pet shop fronting a puppy mill.
Isla leaned back, absorbing the surprising turn. I’d been expecting a lot worse too.
“I’m just relieved to be free of such a mind-numbingly boring job.” I smirked, remembering how I’d exited the building. “I might have skipped through the foyer.”
Amusement twinkled in Isla’s gaze when she met mine. “You didn’t?”
I nodded. “My feet left the ground and everything. Security watched me go with a bemused smile. All I needed was a dye job, a pair of killer red heels and a yellow brick road, and you could call me Dorothy.”
But alas, I was rather attached to my pastel-pink shoulder-length cut. It stood out in stark contrast to my sister’s more conventional long honey-blond tresses. We shared our mother’s sharp features, which made us look younger than we actually were. Isla was two years older than me at twenty-seven, and even she got ID’d half the time.
“I’m so proud of you.” Isla raised her glass to the air in toast.
Funny, I thought I’d packed the glassware already.
“I’ve done nothing yet.”
“Nonsense. You’re taking a brave risk and I couldn’t be happier for you.” Isla took a seat on my sofa and sipped her bubbling glass. “You watch. This will be just what you need.”
I didn’t doubt I needed a change of pace. Something was very definitely lacking in my life, and nothing I tried fit. I wasn’t delusional; I knew this would be a challenge, but it felt right.
Right or not, my grin wilted at the edges. “Even though I only got it because of you?”
“Sweetheart, getting into this business on your own is really bloody hard.” She shrugged, taking a sip of champagne. “The entertainment industry is a nepotistic business. Do you know how many friends, siblings and children I’ve seen filter through my agency because they’re connected to one person or another?”
I shook my head. Isla worked with five other agents. It couldn’t be that many.
“At least a hundred in the last six years.” She shrugged, her eyes glinting with mischief as mine widened. “But I was one of them, so I’m definitely not complaining, and no one is going to bat so much as an eyelash at you.”
Isla tapped at her phone, her forehead creasing in concentration while she searched for something. The matter closed for her, and maybe it should be for me too. If it was normal, why should I care that I lacked experience? I’d been perfectly capable in uni. I’d managed people and schedules at the student union for most of my degree. Surely that counted for something?
I wrapped another plate in newspaper and moved onto the next, my jaw tightening as I watched my sister type away. She was supposed to be helping me. The contents of my entire one-bed flat needed packing and hauling an hour down the road to her flat in Glasgow in the morning. If we didn’t want to be up until 2AM, there needed to be more wrapping happening alongside the celebrating and distracted texting.
I didn’t think I had a lot of stuff, but it was hard to avoid the facts when faced with packing it all up and storing it. The truth was: I owned a lot of unnecessary shit. What single person needed twelve plates or twenty mugs? Yes, they were all pretty designs, but I didn’t have any friends left to entertain. It was all wasted money and space.
My smart speakers kicked in thanks to Isla, blaring “That Don’t Impress Me Much” by Shania Twain and scaring the bejesus out of me. Isla wrestled the plate from my grip, a huge grin spreading across her face again. Then she took my hands and pulled me away from the boxes.
When we were kids, we used to dance around the kitchen to this song. One of us was always tripping up our parents as they made dinner. An answering smile tugged at my lips.
