Page 13 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘I like to go wandering sometimes. These days I get overruled. So unless you know any aikido, we’ll have company.’

‘My aikido’s a little rusty.’

He grimaces. ‘Mine too.’

The receptionist makes eyes at Aidan, indicating that our designated bodyguard is waiting in the corner at the entrance to the lobby.

‘Okay, we’re good to go, let’s get out of here.’

Outside, Aidan seems on edge. I walk with him in silence under a series of underpasses, into a rabbit warren of narrow low-rise residential streets, small apartment buildings and offices on either side. He walks with purpose, the stoic bodyguard behind us practically having to jog to keep up. The latter certainly doesn’t have the look of a ninja assassin. It’s still early, the city is coming to life, and the air is tinged with the aroma of delicious ramen intermingled with the stench of engine grease.

‘So,’ Aidan begins, shoving his hands inside his pockets.

‘Wait,’ I interrupt him, stopping a moment. ‘Is this the start of my interview?’

It’s my attempt to lighten the mood but, once again, my efforts are thwarted when he frowns at me. Aidan McArthur frownsa lot. ‘Fine, if that’s how you want to play it.’

‘I meant I’d rather get any interrogation out of the way.’

‘I didn’t say it was an interrogation.’

I lift my brow. ‘Well, it feels like it.’

He huffs, his expression darkening even more. He checks the position of the bodyguard. We’re on a narrow street and the tension between us is palpable.

‘What is it you want to know?’ I ask when he says nothing.

He starts walking again. I’m bordering on exasperated. The guy is a diva. I run after him, trying to catch his eye.

‘Tell me why you became a documentary filmmaker.’

‘I… my father gave me a camcorder, so I started making my own documentaries from a young age. He was a director. He left when I was eight, and then my parents divorced when I was ten. I stayed with my mother, who was an actress on and off. My father moved to California and bought me expensive gifts to make up for the fact that he wasn’t around anymore, and he remarried in the States.’

‘Where’s your father now?’

‘He lives in LA still. We’ve never been close.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Patrick Hart.’

‘Do you have any siblings?’

‘None. You have a twin, yes?’

‘Paige. And an older brother, Rohan. He’s married to Jo-Jo, they’ve got two kids. Are you married?’

For some reason I don’t want to admit my single status to him for fear of his judgement. ‘Enough personal questions,’ I answer. ‘Back to work-related questions.’

‘Fine. The documentaries. Tell me about them.’

‘After university, I got into film school. I made some short films, but then I secured funding for a project about a group of homeless people living rough. That brought me to the attention of Silverpix’s commissioning team. They funded my first documentary feature, which was about people trafficking, which led me ontoCrossing Over, which was about migrants crossing the channel, which is why I won the Oscar.’

It’s a moment before he says, ‘Impressive.’

‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly back.

We’ve reached a junction. Aidan checks the map on his phone, tilting his head in the direction we need to go.

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