Page 24 of The Cut

There was nothing unusual about the wall of photographs stuck to the whiteboard in lines with tiny magnets.

On each photo, a black Sharpie had scribbled a date and time code.

In tiny writing was a description, a ‘headline’, of what was happening and why.

To the everyday person, it might have seemed obsessive.

It was like the quintessential scene in a police procedural with the map and the red string, linking all the suspects together with photographs and Post-it notes.

Editing a film like this was painstaking.

At this point, the narrative was very much in flux.

Of course, he knew how it ended, they both did.

The iPhone shots were jumpy and had a feeling of urgency, but the interviews along the found footage would balance the film with a much more grounded tone.

The assembly so far was fragmented. It was like placing the corners and then slowly finding the edges of a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle.

There was just a vague outline to begin with, the skeleton of a narrative in which to thrust the cast of characters, waiting to find their place in the big picture.

It would all climax into some CGI bloodbath but that would come later.

Max took a beat, then pulled up a shot from his Dropbox that Mickelsen had sent over.

We’ll need a stunt rider and incorporate a POV drone shot. Wide and high.

The door to the basement cutting room cracked open, spilling light into the den, and the padding of Cocoa’s feet on the concrete pulled Max out of his work. Charlie chased close behind.

‘Dada, can Cocoa and me go in the sprinklers?’ Charlie had anticipated a ‘yes’ by changing into a pair of yellow swim shorts with pineapples and bananas printed all over them.

He was wearing snorkel goggles with the air pipe dangling from the side of his ear as he stuffed a whole Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup into his mouth.

Max laughed out loud. ‘All right, Jacques Cousteau, how deep do you think you’re going?’

Charlie was staring at the screen.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a weir.’ Max held his arm out to Charlie, offering a cuddle.

‘What’s weird about it?’ Charlie looked confused and Cocoa trotted over to lick his hand.

Max chuckled. ‘Well … it’s all covered with slippy green slime and it’s really deep.’ He bent down to tickle Charlie, picking him up and holding him tight as his skinny body squirmed and wriggled in his arms. Charlie leant into Max’s neck.

‘Can we pleeeaaase go in the pool?’ The puppy-dog eyes from both his son and an actual puppy dog were impossible to say no to.

‘You’ll have to be quick. Papa’ll be here soon.’

Charlie slipped out of Max’s arms and sprinted up the stairs, Cocoa haring after him.

Max grabbed a towel from the hall cupboard on the way up, before hearing the splash into the deep 139 end.

His stomach lurched. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an old fear resurfaced.

Deep water, dark and murky. His knees softened slightly and his feet tingled on the polished porcelain floor.

He paused for a second, waiting to hear laughter, but there was only silence, then Cocoa started barking uncharacteristically.

‘Charlie?’ Max raced up the stairs, almost slipping face down on the stone steps. Cocoa was racing round and round the pool in an absolute frenzy, barking at the surface, back and forth.

Charlie was face down in the middle of the pool. Max ran over as Cocoa dived into the water and swam towards the body now sinking to the bottom.

‘Charlie!’

As Max reached the water’s edge, Charlie suddenly exploded up out of the water between a giant inflatable flamingo and a slice of watermelon.

‘I found buried treasure.’ He spat out a mouthful of water and lifted his goggles, holding something aloft.

The pair of yellow swim shorts he had been wearing, helicoptered over his head, spraying Max with water.

Charlie was laughing his head off. Max closed his eyes and exhaled, allowing himself to get drenched in the spray and smiling in relief.

They were abruptly interrupted by the honk of Brandon’s car horn. ‘Quick, come on. Papa’s here. Go on in and dry off.’ Charlie scuttled out of the water naked, trying to get one foot into his shorts, hopping around on the other. ‘Charlie, please stop messing around, you’ll get me into trouble!’

‘Having fun?’

Max turned, water dripping from his face and staining his white linen shirt and shorts with huge transparent blotches. Brandon, with a face like thunder and a tone to match, was 140 checking his watch. He dumped a huge box of See’s Candies down on to the table.

Max smiled. ‘California brittle … you remembered.’ He stared at the box.

‘Happy Christmas. Don’t eat them all at once.’ For all the heartache between them, there was always room for a thoughtful gesture.

‘Don’t stress. We’re all packed, he just wanted to cool off.

’ Cocoa came running up to nuzzle Brandon, then returned to Max’s side, where he proceeded to shake himself dry in a double drench.

Brandon’s face cracked a smile, he just couldn’t help it.

Max was surrounded by the kind of chaos that made him want to throw his arms around his ex-husband and chuck him into the pool. They both started laughing.

A dripping wet Charlie, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, tiptoed inside. ‘I’m ready. I’m ready … promise … please don’t be mad.’ He disappeared up to his bedroom.

‘He’ll be at least half an hour drying his hair.’ Max glanced up to Charlie’s bedroom.

‘Like father, like son.’ Brandon smirked. He was all open-necked plaid shirt and cowboy boots.

‘Wanna beer?’ Max headed inside.

‘Driving.’ Brandon wet his mouth at the prospect and glanced down at Max’s butt in damp shorts as he passed.

‘One won’t hurt.’ Max was at the fridge, two bottles of Stella Artois in his hand.

‘Still drinking that European crap?’ Brandon took the offering and cracked the top open on the door latch.

‘Tell me again where you’re taking Charlie on holiday?’ Max swigged his beer.

‘Italy.’ Brandon put the bottle to his mouth. 141

‘So … you gonna eat Jack in the Box and drink Bud Light all trip then?’ Max ran his tongue over his teeth, grinning.

Brandon, for all his masculine bravado, was a shy country boy at heart. He fingered the St Christopher on the silver chain around his neck. ‘You could still come, you know. There’s “room at the inn”?’ He reddened – that was really hard to admit. ‘All that fresh powder and Bombardino on tap …’

Max was silent for a second. There was just the shiver of a moment between them when Brandon thought he was going to say yes, like a tear in silk.

‘Skiing? With my knees? … Nah, too much work on.’ Max glanced over to the stairs where Charlie was dragging a Spider-Man wheelie bag, clattering down the steps.

‘What have you got in there? The kitchen sink?’ Max ruffled Charlie’s hair and kissed his head.

‘Huh? No, just my boots, my helmet … and my Xbox, and my presents and …’

Brandon nearly spat out his beer. Both of them burst out laughing.

‘Good luck with that excess baggage.’ Max slapped Brandon on the shoulder and they headed out to the driveway for the farewells.

Charlie was all strapped in; the Xbox had been secretly extracted and left in the trunk of the ’75 Mustang. Max and Cocoa came around to the driver’s side to see them both off.

‘Will Santa Claus be able to find me up the mountain?’ Charlie’s red teeth were stuck together with a Twizzler.

‘Hell yeah! We sent him the address already.’ Brandon fired up the engine and hid his eyes under a pair of sleek Ray-Bans. ‘Hey … Don’t get so busy with the past that you miss the present.’ Brandon’s parting shot was like a punch in the gut. 142

‘What do you mean?’ Max smiled at him, a smile that kept a brave face to the world.

‘I’ve been paying attention, babe.’ Brandon hadn’t called him that in a long time. ‘I just wish you’d pay a little more attention over here.’ Max glanced at Charlie, who was fiddling with the stereo. Brandon leant out of the window and lowered his shades. ‘Still havin’ nightmares?’

‘I produce horror movies … babe.’ It was sharper and more sarcastic than he’d meant it to be, and he instantly regretted it. ‘I’m dealing with it.’

‘Sure you are.’ Brandon pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes.

Max followed Brandon’s car down the drive, bending into the window, smiling at Charlie. ‘Stay on the piste … no daredevil stuff.’

Max stood at the end of the path, watching the blue Mustang disappear around the corner, Charlie waving frantically out of the rear windshield. And they were gone.

Max stared at the empty road and shook his head.

‘I am dealing with it.’