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“We’re stuck. It’s cutting out. Damn.” She scowled at his distorted image. “Can you hear me?”
Mark’s video blipped to black. Alex’s fingers scrambled to reconnect, but a new request to connect filled her screen.
“Hello? Hello? Mark?”
“Sorry Mouse. All good now?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, but I didn…”
His picture flickered again.
“We’ve got a bad connection.” Alex sniffed. “Fuck!”
“What did you say?” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “You froze.”
“We’ve got a bad connection.”
He shook his head, annoyance creasing his forehead. “No, the Garrick. What did they say?”
Alex sagged into the sofa. “Try again.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. Looks like bad timing, that’s all.” He yawned through his words. “I’m proud of you, though. You’re handling it so well.”
Alex averted her eyes and picked at an imaginary thread on the sofa. “Yeah…”
“They’ve actually done you a favour. You’ll be free when the National calls in Upton Park, and you can give the Donmar project your full attention. When the Garrick sees those new plays, they’ll be begging for their own Alex Sinclair commission. You’ve got a real knack for writing strong female characters. They should be biting your hand off.”
She shrugged.
Mark bit his lip. “I’ve got something big that will have you singing the “Happy Happy Joy Joy” song—”
“I thought you said you were too tired—”
“No, not that.”
Alex scratched her head. “You’re bringing home chocolate?”
“It’s better than that.”
“Nothing’s better than that.” Alex broke eye contact.
“Well, this is. What if I told you the Promise Unspoken shoot is changing again?”
Alex gritted her teeth. “Urgh, Mark—”
“Wait, hear me out.” He leaned forward. “The location is changing. It’s been switched from Canada to Ireland.”
She caught her breath. “What?”
“Yup. Add the production’s senior accountant to our Christmas card list, babe. He’s our new best friend. Apparently, he convinced the producer that a move to Ireland would save tons of cash—”
Alex launched herself upwards with a jubilant squeal. She pictured running into Mark’s arms, his stubble riding that cheeky grin, his lips crushing hers, ecstatic to be together again. She bounced on the sofa, sending the tablet floor-bound. Mark got a good view of the ceiling.
“You okay?” He laughed. “They have to recast a few roles because of the change, and we’ll be stuck in front of a green screen a lot, but it’s worth it. I was dying to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t get a signal—”
“We so needed this!” Alex whooped, scooping up the iPad. Her shoulders felt lighter; the weight—the worry—of being without Mark for months while he played an 1840s Irish immigrant tackling the wilds of Newfoundland…gone.
“You can visit the set often, and I have several days off at Christmas, so we’ll be together. Obviously we can’t go to the States, but maybe Manchester? See your dad?”
