Page 48 of Bad Influence
‘Have you decided to trust me again?’ he asked. I was jolted into remembering why we hadn’t spoken for a few days.
‘Should I?’ I bit back.
‘Amber, there was no reason for you to ever not trust me,’ he said. ‘I’m not in touch with my ex, and I don’t intend to be. Where did you get that thought from?’ He paused. ‘Be honest.’
‘Okay, truth is, I zoomed into a photo on my phone, of you at Christmas.’
‘A photo?’
‘Exactly what I said, Rob. I zoomed into a photo I found on my phone of us on Boxing Day, and it showed your Facebook Messenger open, and an image that looked very much like Emily’s profile picture next to the chat. So,naturally,I assumed that you were in touch with her and—’
‘And you assumed I was having an affair,’ he said, finishing my sentence. ‘Without even being sure that it was her profile picture, or that there were any new messages, oraskingme about it. Or being a little more rational about it before accusing me of infidelity? Never mind the fact that you were spying on my phone.’
‘Indirectly. I was actually spying on myownphoto, on myownphone.’
‘Amber, I wasn’t texting Emily. I haven’t been in touch with her for a really long time. Send me the photo and I’ll help you verify what you believe you’ve seen, if you like.’ He gave an even bigger weary sigh. ‘It really upset me that you’d think I’d do something like that.’ Now that he put it like that, it did sound as though I had accused him of something big without any hard evidence. ‘Seriously, send me the photo if you want. We can get it forensically analysed.’
I listened for any indication of guilt in his tone, and there seemed to be none. Rob’s brow was furrowed as he waited for me to respond. A bit of me did want to examine the photo again –I’ll do that in bed later– but, for now, it seemed pointless belabouring the argument. I wanted to believe him, and if I wanted to make things good between us, I had to.
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured. ‘I made an assumption, and I shouldn’t have.’
‘I’m glad that’s sorted then.’ He let out a sigh.
‘Are you okay, Rob?’ I asked again. ‘You don’t seem yourself – you sound really down.’ Granted the room waspretty dark, but even the whites of his eyes seemed grey and lifeless. There was none of the usual Rob spark when he looked at me. ‘Look, I really am sorry,’ I continued. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel this bad. I shouldn’t have been so accusatory. Am I forgiven?’
‘You’re forgiven,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner. It’s been a shit week to be honest.’
‘Oh no, work again?’
‘Yep, same old story, it’s rubbish. There are no new productions. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be let go. I feel like I’m waiting to be called in for a “chat” with Mike and that will be that. It’s doing nothing for my confidence. But the worst thing about it? I don’t even care anymore, Am. I’m over working in TV. But I have absolutely no clue what I want to do. Or what I’d beableto do.’ He looked down, unable to make eye contact.
My eyes searched his face. ‘Well, maybe you won’t be let go. Is it worth having a chat with Mike to tell him how you’re feeling? Maybe there are other roles that you could go for?’ I felt helpless that I was here and he was all alone worrying about this. ‘And if it’s not TV, of course there are plenty of things you could do. You’re so talented! Why do you think I’m dating you?’
Silence. He didn’t even crack a smile at my attempt at a joke.This is really bad.
‘I can’t tell my boss the truth,’ he snapped. ‘If I did, I’d be let go for sure. And how will that help us, with rent to pay and a mortgage to try for? I need to keep my job, Amber. I just hate it.’
‘Look, I’m doing this job with Mandy to help us save,’ I said, trying a change of tack. ‘You’re such a brilliant director. You’ve nailed every project you’ve worked on. What is it about TV you hate?’
‘Babe, they’ve all been low-budget celebrity crap. I’m hardly winning Emmys. I just find that world so one-dimensional now – besides, it’s old, none of that stuff is winning ratings wars anymore. The main channels want eyeballs, hard-hitting documentaries, true crime, or slick Oscar-worthy dramas created in virtual worlds.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Maybe I should become a pilot.’
‘I don’t think your eyesight is good enough.’ It was a bad attempt to be funny.
He didn’t react. ‘So, what else has been happening?’ he asked.
‘I’ve had all kinds of shenanigans from Mandy since I’ve been here,’ I muttered, hoping to show him that work is rarely a ball all the time for anyone. ‘But this will make you laugh … I bruised my lip in the gym the other morning and Mandy took me to a cryotherapy chamber to try to stop the swelling.’
‘Cryotherapy?’ He winced.
‘It’s basically a giant freezer.’
He feigned interest. ‘Sounds painful.’
‘What are you doing at the weekend?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘No plans yet. Will you be working all of it?’
‘Mandy’s having drinks at the house tomorrow evening. I wish you could come. I could ask, she might be willing to make an exception?’
