‘ “The House Is Going to Get You”，’ says Dominique.
‘Yes, exactly. I haven’t worked out a format, but I like the concept of turning places we know into the location for an adventure, using household objects to defeat monsters. Can you work with that as a jumping-off point?’
The energy in the room slowly shifts, as everyone starts talking, all keen to contribute.
‘Scene! The office is filling with water,’ says Leon, jumping onto his chair. ‘We need a boat, but all we have is . . .’ He looks to Dominique, and she hands him an imaginary object.
‘This giant stapler.’ Everyone laughs as he and Dominique mime stapling together a boat out of pieces of paper, climbing into it and then slowly sinking. They take a bow then head back to their seats, but Michael says, ‘No, keep going.’
Leon and Dominique carry on their game, imagining disasters befalling the office, which they overcome using office equipment.
‘How are they doing this so effortlessly?’ I ask.
‘They’re in an improv troupe together,’ Michael leans in to tell me. ‘A talented bunch.’
Trey slams a hand on the desk, as though he’s just thought of something brilliant.
‘We could do 4D VR mapping on the kids’ houses. You’d see the monsters right there in hologram, as though they’re coming out from under the bed, or the wardrobe or whatever.’ Trey opens his drawing pad.
‘Could we make the monsters the real ones that the kids imagine – if they could draw them for us?’ Callum asks, nervously.
‘I love that idea,’ I say, and his cheeks flush pink.
‘There’s this new programme – CGH5.8. It could be perfect for something like this,’ says Trey.
‘Can you show us?’ I ask, and Trey’s fingers dart around his screen at incredible speed.
‘This will be rough, but okay, describe a monster to me,’ he says.
‘A disgusting blue blob with an iron for a head, and electric eels for arms,’ says Leon, grinning.
‘Don’t make it easy for me, will you, mate,’ Trey says, shaking his head, but he pulls out his digital pen and sketches what Leon’s described. Then from his tablet, a 3D hologram of the image shines out into the room. It’s impressive.
‘Wow, that is so gene,’ says Dominique.
Trey keeps scribbling, and the hologram monster moves its arms up and down. ‘It will be even better when I have time to prepare,’ he tells us. ‘I can do more detailed drawings. With more cameras, we could present it in 4D.’
We all clap Trey and he blushes, then adjusts his beret. As we explore the idea, everyone in the room has something to contribute and a palpable buzz starts to build around the table.
‘This is it,’ I say, looking at Michael.
‘This is it,’ he agrees.
That afternoon, Trey asks if he can use my office – it’s the only room big enough for him to experiment with this new technology – so I decide to go home early and work from there. Now that we have a concept, I want to write everything up, try to hone the format.
But once I’m set up in my home office, I look down at the picture of Sam on my desk and my mind fills with thoughts of him, of his body, of his hands running up my back last night before we were interrupted. Knowing he is just twenty yards away in his studio proves to be a major distraction. As I’m trying to write a pitch document, my mind wanders to Sam’s lips, Sam’s hand, Sam’s . . . Maybe I’ll just go and say hi to him, then I’ll be able to focus, then I can start to work properly. Yes, that’s definitely the mature thing to do.
‘Hey, I brought you tea,’ I say, knocking as I open his studio door.
Sam looks surprised to see me but takes off his earphones and smiles, running a hand through his thick hair. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing his lean, toned forearms, and a dark smattering of hair. What is it about good forearms on men? Like, I want to arm wrestle him and I want to lose. With his sharp jawline and ready smile, he’s ridiculously attractive. Even though he’s tired, his eyes always seem to play somewhere on the edge of mischief. ‘Sorry, I’m interrupting.’
‘You’re not interrupting,’ he says, taking the mug from my hands.
‘So, I pitched the idea, and everyone loved it. There’s plenty to do, but it feels good to have something to work on.’
‘That’s great news, well done.’ He grins up at me, and I loiter at the door, unable to make myself leave.
‘Can I stay and watch you work for a bit, see what it is you do?’ I ask him.
‘Sure, be my guest,’ he says, indicating a leather armchair in the corner of the room. Then he pushes his sleeve up and shoots me a bashful look over his shoulder. ‘I’m self-conscious now.’
‘Pretend I’m not here.’
He turns on a screen and a scene from a movie starts to play. A man and a woman are holding hands, confessing their love for one another beneath a night sky full of dancing green auroras.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘Meet Me in Oslo, a romantic comedy I’m scoring. This is the climactic scene where the leads confess their feelings for one another. I can’t get the tone right.’
‘I rarely notice the music in movies,’ I admit. ‘Is that bad?’
‘If you notice it, that usually means the composer hasn’t done their job. The score should make you feel, it should add to the emotion of the performances on screen, not distract from it.’ He presses a button on the huge dashboard of controls in front of him and the scene from the film restarts. ‘Sometimes it’s understated,’ he says, playing a few chords on the piano, ‘then it builds.’ He keeps playing, developing the music into something bolder, pressing a button to add some strings. ‘But if you go too big, it’s distracting.’ The music he’s playing is now sweeping and dramatic with heavy, clunking chords. I laugh, because it’s changed the mood of the scene so completely, then I shake my head in awe at his ability to improvise like this.
‘Wow, you’re amazing,’ I say, and he rubs a palm up his neck, shifting in his chair.
‘It’s just practice,’ he says, turning back to the piano. The speaker crackles, and Sam leans across to shift a dial. ‘Sorry, this speaker’s seen better days.’
‘Can’t you get a new one?’
‘I was planning to, but then someone spent all our money on strange purple suits.’ He says it playfully, but I shoot him a grimace.
‘Can you make it into a horror movie?’ I ask, nodding towards the screen. Sam raises an eyebrow at me before turning back to the piano. He restarts the clip, then plays a dark accompaniment, full of foreboding, and I clap with glee.
‘That’s so sinister. How do you do that? Ooh, can you do a version where she’s an evil creature from outer space, but he’s in love with her, and doesn’t care?’
‘What am I, a performing monkey?’ he says, pretending to scowl, but the smile lines around his eyes give him away. ‘I thought you were here to watch me work.’
‘I thought you were showing me what you can do. Wooing me with your musical dexterity.’