Chapter Forty-Seven Soundtrack: Latter Days by Anais Mitchell

Today was never going to be easy.

But goddamn, these award show entries are not helping.

Bad enough that this is firmly not my job - that Barry gave the team assistant three weeks off without arranging cover. Hurrah for her, but terrible timing for the Emmys deadline. When it landed in my inbox, I messaged Barry to ask why I had to do the admin, instead of Nas (sexism, obviously). In response, he set his status to Unavailable and ignored me.

I could palm it off on Nas, I guess, but that isn't fair. Or I could text him to complain - though probably, he would just do it for me, and realising that fills me with a warm glow.

But softness like that is especially unwelcome today, because this was always going to be a shit day. Soft, warm thoughts of Nas come before slimy, guilty thoughts, because today is the anniversary of Ben's death.

I smash the keyboard unnecessarily hard. Not a brilliant idea, with our current IT embargo. Something else to blame Nas for.

These award entries, though, bring out a deeply buried rage. I filled out dozens in the early years of my career and never, ever got to attend the ceremonies. And they aren't easy, as I often ranted to Mei: each one takes a whole day, requiring uniquely time-coded, subtitled, exported clips of varying lengths, resized photos with and without logos, writing paragraphs linking the show to the award... and that's before the arguments over whose name goes on the trophy. It's nearly enough to make me quit TV.

I move to the next box. When did this title air in each region, and at what time, beginning with Algeria?

Kill me.

Another text from Mei appears. She's been trying to get in touch all morning. I suspect that she has today circled in her calendar, because she's terrible with dates. She's never once remembered my birthday. But today is an exception, a death instead of a birth, and while I know she means well, what good can a text do? I turn my phone face-down and ignore her.

Argentina, now.

Does our show really deserve an award, if this is the cost of getting one? I seriously contemplate this.

Australia.

On Teams, a GIF from Nas pops up. Who sends GIFs? He's so old. I thumbs-up.

What's going on? He messages me. You haven't checked the maths on my budget yet. I made two mistakes just for you.

My cursor hovers over his message.

I can feel my heart in the back of my throat. It's like a bird with weighted wings: heavy and trembling. Grief feels a lot like guilt today.

I could reply normally, snap about carelessness and let him shamelessly flirt with me; I could explain why today is so hard and become a post-mourning Ellie who shares her feelings and doesn't blame herself. Two roads diverge, etc. Instead, I just sit down in that forest and close my eyes to the paths ahead. I ignore the message.

The award submission page crashes. In the blank screen, I see my entire life flash before my eyes. It reloads, with all my answers gone.

This might actually kill me. This could be it.

An email from Kehinde arrives. She's delivered another draft of the eighth episode, when the hero must confront his grief and move on. The dramatic irony of this makes me laugh out loud.

I sent her my last notes before the grief counselling session, when I assumed I was the only person who understood loss. My condescending feedback is so grating, now. I can hardly bear to open it.

She's included a covering note, too, because even when dealing with clueless producers like me, she's a consummate professional.

Hey Ellie,

Thanks for these notes! I can't believe how close to the end we are. I completely hear you on Scene 7. I went back and forth but decided to delete it. I don't think it adds anything.

Re the moment when he stands back up: I've left it in. I don't think the audience will judge him for walking away from the body, because the relationship isn't contained in the moment it ends. Does that make sense? I think we can see the breakdown, but it has to come later, when it's more about the life they shared than the death.

And I think that your suggestion of him discussing his pain is really good. After all, silently holding onto grief rots us from the inside.

Happy to jump on a call to discuss.

All the best,

Kehinde

I feel like I'm on a hidden camera show. Silently holding onto grief rots us from the inside? So what's left in me, then? A pulsing hollow where my heart once beat?

Ughhh. I can roll my eyes, but she's right. Of course she's right. Her job is to observe and describe emotions. You can't fool a writer. She's even right about Scene 7.

I text Mei. free tonight?

ofc xoxoxoxo, she replies.

Okay, then. Grief shared. Pain discussed. Let's go.