Page 121 of A Night with Damien Spur

Damien didn’t hide his tears.

When the music ceased, for a moment nobody spoke.

Ariana laughed and broke the spell. She glanced at Damien’s tear-filled eyes. ‘Ah! Always a good sign when you move the writer.’ She took out a tissue from her bag and gave it to him.

He dabbed his eyes. ‘Thank you, Ariana. I think you’ve passed my litmus test.’ He turned to the director. ‘So, Marc…’ he said, ‘I think the theme tune is hers… But of course,’ he added giving him a sanguine glance, ‘you’re the director and you have the last word.’

‘Yes, I think it works.’

Chapter 39

‘Oh my God.’ Damien stared at the packet of white powder in his hand. It had been dropped through his letterbox in an innocuous Manila envelope. No note, just his name and an “A” on the back.

He leant against the wall and shut his eyes.

Focus on your yogic breathing, said the Voice.Slow your heartbeat. Calm down. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Damien’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. He held his breath and exhaled slowly with an “ah” sound.

That’s it. That’s it, Damien.

‘Help me,’ he said to the Voice. ‘I’m in agony – blocked, can’t write. My mind’s asleep. The powder… it’ll wake me up. Don’t tell me to throw it away.’

I need to think about it, said the Voice.

‘That makes two of us,’ said Damien.

Gone. The effortless chain of words that flowed from his mind.

Gone. His imagination that drove his stories to an end that never failed to surprise him.

All gone.

He was lying on his bed, clutching the bag of white magic to his breast, when the phone rang.

‘Angus! Good to hear from you,’ Damien said.

‘Bullshit. Why haven’t you returned my calls?’

‘Because I know why you’re ringing me.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ his agent said. ‘Bloody fantastic offer, carte blanche, write what you like. Your take onDon Quixote. Brad Pitt and Leonardo Di Caprio. Tarantino. Who wouldn’t kill for the deal?’

Angus smelt the big one. Oscar time. Lots of offers, riding with his client in style, first class.

‘I’m not ready to start another project. I’m still working on the theme song forWriting in the Sand,’ said Damien.

He was tired of his agent’s nagging. Every day, Angus called to say how lucky he was, how grateful he should be. The enormous fee that he would be paid to write the hottest project in film land…

‘For goodness’ sake, how long does it take you to write the bloody lyrics for a simple tune?’

‘Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not your workhorse,’ said Damien. ‘I’m having problems. I just can’t write at the moment. Nothing’s working. The words aren’t there.’

Shut it, Damien. He’s not your bloody therapist, the Voice said.Don’t drop your armour.

But he couldn’t stop.

‘You don’t have any idea what it feels like to spend night after night searching for something that just isn’t there. I’ve lost it, Angus.’

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