Page 9 of Total Creative Control

“You trained to be a teacher.”

“Yeah, and that was my parents’ idea. I never actuallywantedto be a teacher,” Aaron said, for about the fiftieth time. “It was doing this job that helped me realise that.”

Colin looked unimpressed. He hefted one of the boxes into his arms. “Whatever, Aaron. My advice? Do yourself a favour and get a life. Otherwise, you’ll still be here in five years’ time, doing your crappy job, writing your weirdo porn, and wondering where the hell the last decade went.”

And with that, Colin flung open the door and stalked out.

Had Aaron been writing the scene, it would have ended there: fade to black, next chapter. Unfortunately, real life was less tidy, and Colin had to come back five minutes later for the second box.

By then, Aaron had his laptop out and had taken refuge in his latest story. He pretended not to hear the clink of Colin’s key on the countertop or the door closing on his bitter, “Have a nice life, Aaron.”

Chapter Two

Lewis

Owen was leaning against the bar with a mostly drunk pint in front of him when Lewis walked into the Bat and Belfry. He paused in the doorway, watching his brother contentedly sip his beer. Being Owen, he wasn’t scrolling on his mobile phone, and there was no hint of impatience or irritation on his face, despite Lewis being late. He looked, as usual, very Zen. But then, he was the complete opposite of Lewis in temperament.

In other ways they were quite similar. For one thing, they were both tall and broad. Lewis had an inch on Owen in height, but Owen had more muscle. The kind of muscle you got from working physically hard every day for a couple of decades, as opposed to the kind Lewis had, which you got from running and going to the gym. They were both dark-haired too—Lewis’s hair was black, while Owen’s was dark brown—and both blue-eyed, though Owen’s eyes were a lighter, less intense hue than Lewis’s, like faded denim. And they were warm when he smiled. Kind.

When Owen introduced Lewis to people, he always said,“Lewis got the beautyandthe brains in our family”which irritated Lewis no end, not least because it wasn’t true. Though he suspected Owen thought it was, and that always made him feel sad. Sad and irritated together.

Even if it had been true, Owen definitely had the family monopoly on the things that were more important than beauty and brains. Like guts. Likegrit. It had been Owen who’d held everything together after their mum died, when Lewis was fourteen and Owen seventeen. Owen who’d managed to convince everyone that their Aunt Veronica was living with them for those precarious few months till he turned eighteen, when it was, in reality, just the two of them. Owen who’d left school and got a job on a construction site, labouring for cash.

In fact, he’d spent the next six years labouring—as well as doing other, less legitimate stuff on the side—to keep a roof over their heads and the bills mostly paid. And while he’d been grafting, Lewis had done his GCSEs and A levels. And had started writing obsessively, desperately trying to land a position as a runner in a TV production company—which he’d eventually done, talking himself into the role with the help of a CV that was packed with lies.

Looking back, he cringed to remember how much he’d taken his brother for granted.

Just then, Owen spotted Lewis. He grinned and lifted a hand in a greeting, then pointed at his beer and raised his brows. Lewis nodded and began making his way through the crowded pub, easing his way round groups of rowdy drinkers. By the time he reached Owen, the barman was already pulling their pints.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lewis said, allowing his brother to pull him into a quick half-hug.

“It’s okay,” Owen said affably, patting his shoulder before easing back. “Did you get held up at work?”

“Yeah, I stayed late to finish some rewrites and lost track of the time.”

The barman set two pints of Fullers down in front of them, and Lewis went to pull out his wallet.

“I’ll get it,” Owen said, pushing his arm down, and Lewis bit back the automatic protest. Owen could be funny about paying for stuff. Lewis assumed it was a pride thing, that Owen felt weird about his younger brother having so much more money than he did. There had been a time when it used to really get to Lewis. He’d got his first decent salary when he’d started working on a daytime soap—back then, Owen had been struggling to pay the bills, but he’d steadfastly refused any help from Lewis. They’d argued about it a lot. It wasn’t so bad now, that Owen was doing well for himself. His landscaping business had taken off a few years ago, and he had a crew of guys working with him. He’d even bought his own place a few years ago, a bright, sunny, ground-floor flat in Beckenham with its very own pocket-sized garden. It was amazing how much Owen had done with such a tiny space. His garden had an astonishing array of plants, of all different shapes, sizes, and colours, a narrow path that looped around the perimeter, a mini-greenhouse, and even a small pond where Lewis had spotted some froglets in the spring. There were tons of flowers too, from spring right through to autumn, a rhubarb patch, and a hidden bed of dwarf strawberries.

Lewis, who couldn’t even keep a single potted plant alive for more than a few months, was endlessly astonished by Owen’s ability to coax so much life and beauty from what had been little more than a sad little patch of weedy lawn when he’d first moved in.

Once Owen had tucked his wallet away, he lifted his pint and grinned at Lewis. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Lewis echoed, lifting his own glass, and they both drank deeply.

“So, did you get your rewrites finished?” Owen asked, when they’d set their glasses down.

“Not quite, but we can finish them tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Me and Aaron,” Lewis clarified. “He sayshiby the way.”

Owen smiled. “I hope you pay him overtime for all these extra hours he does.”

“He’s well paid,” Lewis said defensively, even as he felt a pang of guilt. The HR director had spoken to him last week about how many extra hours Aaron did.

“We’re concerned that you might be putting pressure on him without realising it…”