Read Online A Hidden Life by Adèle Geras - Free Book Online Page A

shared open-plan space where a couple of people worked at computers, sometimes getting up to use the photocopier. From time to time a phone would ring. Three small offices opened off this one. The Cinnamon Hill producers worked in a couple of these and the third belonged to the script development officer, which was Harry’s job description and sounded very grand. Upstairs, in what must once have been the attic, was the conference room, which sounded more impressive than it was. That was where meetings were held on the rare occasions when they involved more than three people. Lou had discovered that Harry was only five years older than she was and hewas one of those people who looked even younger than his real age. It was quite surprising that high-powered producers took any notice of him at all, but he was, from the little Lou had gathered from chat in the office, very well respected. She knocked at Harry’s door and opened it a crack.
    â€˜Harry? Can I come in?’
    â€˜Hello, Lou! How’s things? What have you got for me?’
    â€˜It’s this
When the Deathbeast Awakens
thing.’
    â€˜Not one for us, you reckon?’
    â€˜Don’t think it’s one for anyone. Here’s my report.’
    â€˜You look a bit – I don’t know – a bit rough. Something wrong? Your baby okay?’
    â€˜She’s fine. My grandmother died. I was at the funeral a couple of days ago …’
    â€˜God, I’m sorry, Lou. Really. Were you close? Are you up to this?
Deathbeasts
and so on?’
    â€˜I didn’t love her. She was a bitch … she …’ To her horror, Lou felt her lip trembling before she burst into tears. God, how could she be speaking like this of Constance, and to someone whom she hardly knew. Mortification at the very idea of breaking down at work made the tears come faster as she dug in the bottom of her bag for tissues. Harry jumped up and took a handkerchief out of his pocket. It was shiny white; the kind of white you saw only in ads. It was also ironed. Who had ironed hankies in their pocket? Didn’t men do tissues?
    â€˜Take this, Lou. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here, really. D’you want to go home? I can call you a cab.’
    â€˜No!’ That came out too loud and desperate. Lou took a few deep breaths and blew her nose. ‘I’m okay. Truly. I don’t know what … and your hankie. Thanks so much. I’ll wash it and give it back next time.’
    â€˜Bugger hankies,’ Harry said, and opened the door. He spoke to Jeanette in the outer office. She doubled as a receptionist and did most of the photocopying and other menial work that cropped up around the office. Gofer should have been her job description, Lou thought. He was going to order coffee. Jeanette was chief coffee fetcher.
    â€˜Can you get us a couple of lattes, Jeanette?’
    Jeanette smiled at Harry and stood up at once. He added, ‘Andpastries or croissants or something. Chelsea buns. Muffins. I don’t care, but sweet and filling, okay? Ta.’
    Harry shut the door and went to sit behind his desk again. Lou looked at him and thought, as she’d often thought before, that he looked very much like a small boy stretched out into a tall, slim adult. He had light brown hair that flopped over his forehead; his glasses, square and tortoiseshell-rimmed, made his brown eyes look larger than they really were. He favoured denim and T-shirts or checked shirts and wore Timberland shoes. He seemed to spend most of his time seeing writers, chivvying and encouraging them, or talking to producers, and consulting with Lou about anything she thought might be worth developing. Mostly, Lou and Harry between them gave scripts the thumbs-down. Then poor Jeanette or one of the others had to feed them through the shredder. Now that so much was online, the days of addressing jiffy bags were almost over.
    There was a tremendous amount