Thirty-Two (Tim); Bitterness.
I stand and look at Heather, who is stood by the stove, singing at the top of her lungs whilst stirring something that smells very appetising to this hungry director. She's singing Oingo Boingo again. Should I start getting worried about this? I shake my head at myself; it won't do for me to be so stupid. I stand and listen to her sing; I do love her voice. It's not quite what you'd expect to hear from her; it's very powerful and she's so small... And she'd kill me if I called her that! I wait until the last note of her voice has died away before I speak up.
"Nice." is all I comment. I can't help the slightly amused expression that passes across my face as she jumps a mile and spins around neatly on the spot.
"Tim!!!" She squeaks, flushing quickly. I smile.
"Hi." I say quietly, watching her eyes widen slightly, her lips apart a little in surprise.
"I... I uh - didn't hear you come in...!" she runs her fingers through her hair, dislodging it from it's elastic and making it fall across her face. I smile wider; I love it when she looks so normal. It's such a refreshing change from the people I see all day, dressed in costumes during filming and designer-wear when they leave. I don't think the huge black t-shirt is designer --I think it's mine, actually!-- and the baggy jeans certainly aren't!
"I gathered that," I move away from the door and run my hand through my own tangle of hair. And no, I didn't try to comb it this morning. Have you any idea how many combs I've broken trying to do that?! "Good day?" I ask, force of habit really. I collapse into a chair just to take the weight off my feet. Heather shrugs.
"So-so. Catching up with people I didn't know were still around, discussing various bits an' bats. How was filming today?" She asks, turning back to the stove. There's a note of bitterness in her voice I can't help but hear, but strangely it isn't quite as bad as earlier. It's still there though... I shake my head and shrug myself, making a slightly exhasperated sound in the back of my throat.
"Well... You know... How it goes... Yeah..." I say carelessly, then suddenly wonder whether I've been exceedingly bloody stupid; last time Heather worked on a film with me --and why do those words have such a nice ring to them?-- she was editing, so she wouldn't know what sort of things happen during filming. God I'm stupid...!
"Yeah, kinda, y'know, vaguely and all that stuffness." Heather nods. Almost as coherent as I am. "Cast giving you grief?" Her voice is bitter again, and I know why. Bloody stupid Annette Vaughn and her stuck-up cousin!
"What're you cooking?" I ask, changing the subject as I stand up and put my arms around her waist, resting my chin gently on her head. I feel her sigh.
"Stir-fry." she says, poking at the vegetables. I blink at them, finding the multitude of colours suddenly rather hypnotising, then blink again and pull her a little closer to me.
"Right, okay..." I nod slightly, trying not to hurt her. "Cool. So, you called people?"
"Yep."
"Talk about anything interesting?"
"Singing and stuff." Heather says, then gently pulls herself from my arms. "Grab me a plate, will you?"
"Sure." I take a plate from the cupboard above our heads, and pass it to her.
"Thanks, love," she fiddles around with some more food.
"So, what was it you talked about, like stuff and things?" I'm getting more and more coherent with my old age. Fancy that.
"Ah, y'know, stuff. Get me a couple of more plates out? Dinner's ready." Heather isn't looking at me, and I suddenly get the feeling she's not wanting to answer me. I wonder why...? Oh well, I know I can get it out of her later...
Chapter 31 ; Contents ; Chapter 33
