George's Grand Tour (15 page)

At last, at the end of the eighth take, they managed to get the scene perfect, and the director called it a wrap. ‘Cut! That's it! It's a wrap, ladies and gents!' The whole team burst into applause, there were hugs and cries of congratulation, even a few tears, probably due to tiredness rather than joy. The executive producer, David Lerner, a tall, lanky blond figure who was pushing fifty but still dressed like a Cambridge student, turned up as if by magic and announced that everyone was to join him down in the basement once the set had been cleared. As always, Adèle was the last person to leave the set, having checked that everything was in order, nothing important had been left behind, and everything in the old house was back in its rightful place. She checked every floor, walking down all the corridors with their creaking floorboards, checking behind all the doors. This place almost felt like home, after a month spent in these musty
rooms. Her spirits were high, and her mind was still buzzing: not only was the shoot over, she had plans afoot and the future was looking up, but she had just received this seemingly impossible text from her grandfather, and it had given her a lift.

By the time she got down to the basement, the party had already started. There was champagne and cheap canapés going around and the room was filled with laughter. Adèle made her way through the throng and managed to get herself a glass of champagne. She didn't notice the producer, the production manager and her assistants whispering about something in a corner of the room. Suddenly the producer's voice was heard asking for silence.

‘Excuse me everybody … Excuse me! OK, thanks. I'd just like to say a few words. I want to say a huge thank you to all the cast and crew for your excellent work. I've seen the rushes and it looks fabulous. We had a viewing with the head of the channel and she's over the moon as well. I am so proud to have been a part of this film, which I am sure will be a huge success. So thank you all for your excellent work. Cheers!'

‘Cheers!' chorused the crowd in reply, applauding enthusiastically. The producer raised his voice again over all the commotion.

‘One more thing, one more thing, and then you can start drinking again. OK, we also have a birthday to celebrate today!' The assistants brought out a cake with a candle in it.

‘Adèle, where's Adèle? Ah, there she is, there's our Adèle!' And everyone broke into a round of ‘Happy Birthday'.

It took Adèle a few moments to realise they were talking about
her. She blushed as she blew out the candle. Once again, the producer cut short the applause.

‘So, before Adèle makes her speech – don't think you're getting away without one, Adèle – I'd like to say thank you not only to the birthday girl, but also to all of our runners and assistants who have probably worked harder than anyone else here. On set, I am sure all of you noticed that we have several highly qualified assistants' (at this point, several of the more important crew members nodded in agreement) ‘and I would like to tell them that they've done a remarkable job, and I say remarkable because I know – having been in that position myself – that they think we don't notice them at all. So, guys, you should know that you have been noticed, and believe me, even if the tasks seem menial at times, I'm telling you that your work is essential, vital to the shoot. So I wish Adèle and all of our runners the very best of luck in their careers in television and cinema. Cheers! And now I'm going to hand you over to our birthday girl.'

Adèle was shaking her head and trying to step back but the producer insisted, clearly in a mischievous mood.

Adèle was still bright red. She hated giving speeches, but it looked as though there was no way out of this one.

‘Thank you, thank you very much, David. Um, for those of you who don't know me, I was the crashing noise in the middle of the fourth take. I dropped my phone, but, um, not because I'm clumsy. Something unbelievable had just happened and it was shock that made me drop my phone. You see, I'd got a text from my grandfather wishing me a happy birthday. The thing is, though, I went to his funeral last weekend.'

The crowd suddenly fell totally silent. There were a few nervous laughs. Adèle felt very uncomfortable standing in front of the silent room.

‘Well, it sounds a bit morbid, but it actually made me really happy. I mean, after the shock had worn off.'

Alex, who was standing near her, asked the question on everyone's lips: ‘How did he do it?' Someone suggested that it was possible to programme phones to send texts at a certain time in the future. Another wondered if it had been a delay with the operator. Maybe someone else had written it for him, or perhaps his phone had been hacked?

When the voices had died down, Adèle said softly:

‘Actually, I'd rather not know how it happened. I think my grandfather would have preferred me not to try to work it out.'

And with that, the party resumed; people moved back into their little groups and the mystery text message became the subject of many an animated conversation. Adèle told a good number of the crew about her grandpa's Tour de France, speaking to people she had been deliberately avoiding for the last month. She even told people about her renewed relationship with him, the past mistakes that had been forgiven, the indifference that had kept them apart for years. The ingenuity of the two old men was a particular cause for hilarity. Old people were not at all like you assumed they were! The actor who had replaced Irving Ferns at such short notice nodded firmly in agreement. All around the room, people were recalling family memories, musing on the state of their health, telling anecdotes from the days before the war. Never before had people at a wrap party talked so little about film and so much about grandparents.

The following week, phones were ringing in retirement homes across England and even Poland, Scotland and Italy, and happy, timid voices spoke to one another for the first time in years. But Adèle had no idea.

One year later, on 21 October, Adèle received another birthday text message from her grandfather. And on her next birthday, and the one after that. She never tried to work out where they were coming from.

But every year, on 25 September, she would send him the same text:

In memory of the Tour. All my luv, ur Adl.

Caroline Vermalle is a former BBC producer and the prize-winning author of seven novels. Having travelled the world with her family and built a wooden house in a forest, she now lives between a small seaside town in Vendée (France) and a small seaside town in the Eastern Cape (South Africa) with her son, a black cat and her husband, South African architect-turned-author Ryan von Ruben.

Anna Aitken studied French and German at St Peter's College, Oxford. She has co-translated two novels by Guillaume Musso. She currently lives and works in London.

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