Page 74 of The Actor and His Secret

I’m going to fix this whole fucked-up situation.

The way the plane inches to the gate is excruciating. I’m bouncing my leg up and down as if that could make the plane go faster.

‘You look like you’re excited for your trip.’

I almost jump as I turn to the old lady sitting next to me. In typical grandma style, she’s spent the entire flight knitting an enormous scarf. It’s heathered grey and looks incredibly soft.

She eyes me through her thick glasses, her hair pulled back into a fashionable bun. ‘Or, on second examination, are you visiting someone in hospital? Because you look like you’re about to vomit all over this plane.’

‘I think I have to go confess my love for a man I met two weeks ago on national telly,’ I say without thinking. ‘Before he makes the biggest mistake of his life.’

‘Oh!’ The woman puts down her now-finished scarf and pulls out a little notebook and pen. ‘What channel?’

‘Uh, I think it’s Mornin’ America?’ The plane inches forward a little more, and I almost get out of my seat again when I feel it jolt, the plane connecting with the walkway. I bite my lip, looking at my watch again, counting the minutes.

‘Ah, young love,’ the grandma sighs. ‘How exciting!’

So exciting that I feel like the vomit emoji personified. Which is really more like abjectly terrified. ‘Yeah,’ I manage weakly. ‘Exciting.’

The boarding door opens and people start to get up. Just before I get out of my seat, something warm and heavy lands around my neck like it’s trapping me.

‘Everyone about to make a public declaration of love needs a scarf,’ the grandma says. ‘It’s the law here in the United States, and you know they take their laws seriously.’

She winks at me, and my throat tightens as I touch the scarf. ‘Thank you.’

‘Now go!’ she says, making a shooing motion. She stands up, barely reaching the top of the seats. ‘Let the boy through! He has to go confess his love on the telly!’

She screams it loud enough that everyone turns and stares at her. My face is flaming, but I take the chance. I grab my carry-on, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and bolt off the plane.

Getting through the airport was a total nightmare. I get lost twice in the crush of people as my watch edges closer to 6am. I don’t even have time to stop in the bathroom to make sure I don’t look like a corpse - I dash right through the crowds and to the taxi stand. The line is a mile long, and I practically dance in place with nerves as I wait my turn.

I pull out my phone, which has now loaded the text messages from Megan that were sent during the flight. She must have been up all night. I’m now on a group chain with Selina, the two of them pinging updates back and forth.

I eye the last one from Selina. Bit of a situation. Nikos freaking out. We’re off to the studio but it’s not going well.

Don't worry, Megan had said back. Oli’s on the way.

I am. I get to the front of the line and fling myself into the back of a cab, suitcase and all.

‘Broadway and 44th street, please,’ I gasp out. ‘Times Square.’

The cabbie doesn’t respond, just pulls out from the curb so quickly that I’m pressed back against my seat. I nervously check how long it’s going to take to get to the studio. 45 minutes, fuck. It means I’ll get there right as they start taping.

We inch through traffic, which appears to be caused entirely by a truck sitting in the middle of the road, surrounded by cones, with workers holding signs saying slow for literally no discernible reason. By the time we reach the city, morning traffic has started up in earnest, and the number of stoplights we hit and the number of pedestrians we have to wait for makes me want to shake apart.

I’ve never been to New York City, but I couldn’t care less about the view or the sights or whatever. The enormous LED screens of Times Square make me feel like I’m going to have a seizure, or maybe that’s just the lack of air from the crippling anxiety strangling me.

I need to get to Nikos. I need to make sure he’s alright, because right now, he’s very clearly not.

We reach the TV studio and I just about die when the credit card reader takes forever to process my contactless payment. As soon as it clears, I’m shooting out of the cab like a bullet, my suitcase wheels not even touching the street. The security guard looks alarmed and holds out an arm to stop me, but there’s a production assistant standing there with a clipboard and a set of headphones on. ‘Are you Oliver Cane?’

‘Yes,’ I pant out. ‘I am.’

‘We’re rolling,’ they say. ‘Come with me, quickly now.’

The security guard relents and the production assistant grabs my suitcase handle, speeding us through the lobby’s security barriers with the flash of a badge. We get into the elevator, and head to the top floor of the building. There’s a little television inset into the elevator wall, and I see Nikos on it. He’s sitting on a couch, looking more terrible than I’ve ever seen him. Tortured, like everything that’s happened has taken him to the bottom of the ocean.

It’s ok, I tell myself. I’ll pull him up to the surface.

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