Page 82 of Home Grown Talent
Once they’d finished the section with the new plants, a wardrobe girl brought fresh outfits for them to change into—just another tattersall shirt for Owen, in green this time, but for Mason, skinny jeans and a rainbow hoodie in some sort of hemp-like fabric. Owen wouldn’t be seen dead in it, but, as usual, it looked good on Mason.
“I don’t understand why we need to change?” Owen grumbled as he buttoned up the fresh shirt. “We didn’t last time.”
“Well, you should have, last time,” Misty said, shooting a glare in Lucy’s direction. “We’re getting footage for multiple episodes here. Viewers will notice if you’re wearing the same thing all the time.”
Owen frowned. “In that case, should we think about when the different parts we’re filming today will go out? That bit we’ve just done should be one of the later slots, given how mature the plants are. So should we do the part that will go out earliest now?”
He glanced at Lucy, who nodded and said easily, “That makes sense.” She pulled out her copy of Owen and Mason’s notes, which she’d scribbled all over. “Perhaps if we start with the—”
“No, no, no,” Misty said, cutting across them. “Let’s not waste time on that. We can sort that stuff out in the editing suite.” She consulted her smart watch. “It’s almost ten, and I need to be out of here by twelve. I want to get as much of the footage in the can as possible by then.”
“But surely it’ll save time if we think about it now,” Owen insisted. “That way we won’t end up having to reshoot anything that—”
He broke off when Misty laughed.
“Oh my God,” she said, in the tone of someone asking for the gift of patience. “Owen, this is not the sort of thing we do reshoots on, okay? We need to move this on. We’ll edit the slots as close to your notes as we can, and if one or two little gardening inconsistencies creep through, the world is not going to end, okay? Trust me. Viewers. Won’t. Notice.”
Owen said flatly, “So they won’t notice that, but they’ll notice if I’m wearing a blue tattersall shirt instead of a green one?”
Misty’s eyes narrowed. “Pretty much, yeah.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and began to stride away, clapping her hands forcefully. “Fi, touch up Owen’s makeup! We’ll go again in ten. Mason—with me.”
Mason blinked at her peremptory tone, seeming taken aback. But then he set off after her. Owen almost caught his arm to tell him he didn’t need to jump just because Misty had said so, but then he’d be just as bad as Misty herself. So instead, he watched Mason follow her over to the tiny greenhouse at the back of the plot, resolving to gently raise the subject with him at some future point.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Lucy said beside him. Her expression was grimly resigned.
“Not your fault,” he said simply. “But last time was a lot easier.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I know. It’s not fun for any of us when Misty decides to turn up for filming. Just try to ignore her, okay? She’s only going to be here for two more hours, and then we’ve got the whole afternoon to get some decent footage.” She offered him a half-smile. “Last time was super easy, with that flow you and Mason had going. It would be great to see that again.”
Just then, Naomi appeared in front of them, balancing a tray of coffees she’d just fetched and a huge bag full of muffins and pastries. Once again, she was dressed entirely in black-and-white—stripes, this time, on a knee-length dress—with her long black hair pinned back in a bun.
Owen smiled and thanked her, extracting his black Americano from the tray and selecting a lemon-and-poppyseed muffin from the pastry bag while Lucy grabbed her own coffee.
“Thanks,” he said, grinning at Naomi, who smiled nervously back. “Looks like you get all the best jobs.”
She gave a soft huff of laughter, shooting a look towards Misty and Mason. “Well, you know,” she said in her plummy accent, “it’s par for the course as an intern.”
“Yeah?” Owen said, sipping his coffee. “What are you interning in?”
Brightening, she said, “Television production.”
“I bet that’s competitive. You’ve done well to get the job.”
She gave a little half-shrug and said, “I suppose. I mean, it’s not exactly a job…”
“It’s training,” Owen corrected himself through a large bite of his muffin. Thinking of the apprenticeship schemes he was familiar with, he asked, “Are there modules or…?”
Naomi shook her head. “It’s pretty informal. I just, you know, shadow Misty and…learn as I go.”
Well, that sounded dull. Owen didn’t say as much, lowering his voice and saying with a grin, “I hope you get hazard pay.”
Naomi laughed, then cut herself off abruptly and threw a worried glance at Lucy, who just smiled and lifted her coffee in salute. To Owen, Naomi quietly admitted, “Actually, it’s an unpaid internship.”
He felt his eyes widen. “Unpaid?” Christ, Misty had Naomi working all hours. “How’s that even legal?”
“Er…” She flushed, seeming embarrassed. “Well, actually it was my stepfather who arranged it—he went to school with one of the RPP board members. Apparently, if you’re shadowing someone, rather than working, it’s allowed.”
Shadowing Misty his arse! Naomi was working her socks off for free and apparently getting bugger-all training in return. Not that it sounded like she needed the money, but even so, Misty was obviously exploiting her. Not to mention the fact that this intern arrangement neatly excluded any candidates who couldn’t afford to work for free. “Well,” he said, trying to sound positive, “I hope it leads somewhere for you. I’m sure it will.”