Death Actually Read online

  “OK. But I’m here if you need me. Is this everything?” Nick indicated the containers stacked against one wall of the walk-in fridge.

  “Yip, and thanks,” said Kate, squeezing his arm. “You’ll need to be up the Lake, all set up and ready to serve breakfast before dawn, so early start. I’m going to be here till late tonight, so try not to make a noise when you leave.”

  Nick called in to see Lizzie on his way home. Visiting daily meant he now knew her reasonably well, and had started to think of her more as a friend than a customer. He enjoyed going to see her as long as the windows were open. She was smart, straight and wickedly funny at times, and his mother’s visit had somehow triggered a change in her. She seemed less prickly; lighter in her approach to everyone who visited.

  “Of course, I don’t mind if you can’t come tomorrow,” she said when he told her he had to take the food truck on location in the morning. “As long as you promise to come and tell me all the gossip when you get back. I want to hear all about Tim James and his doings,” she said, unconsciously licking her lips. “I want to know if he looks as good in real life as he does on screen. I will be expecting details, Nick, details. Oh, and tell your Mum I’m waiting. She’ll understand.”

  That night, no one slept particularly well in the Potter house. Maggie had to go out just after midnight to attend to a not-unexpected death at a nearby rest home, and by the time she had everything organised in the mortuary, it was just after two a.m.

  Kate had come in after work and gone straight to her room, where she checked her messages online, deleting most without opening them. She’d eaten at the restaurant and lay on her bed listening to music, trying not to think about anything in particular. Although she was exhausted from the day’s work, her mind wouldn’t stop working enough to allow sleep to come. She heard her mother’s return before she finally dropped off, only to be woken by her brother’s alarm in the next bedroom at four a.m.

  Elka was feeling a little better after a supper of soup and ciabatta, but wasn’t in the mood to chat and went to her room to pack. She had told Nick and Maggie she was going home the next afternoon, and thanked them for looking after her. Lying in the dark, she made a mental list of everything she had to do to get organised for the coming months at the restaurant and the summer season, before finally swallowing some more painkillers and half a sleeping tablet, knowing there would be no rest otherwise.

  Of the four occupants in the house, only Nick slept as soon as his head hit his pillow. When the alarm woke him at four a.m. he was surprised to find the upstairs bathroom door locked. Lately, Kate always seemed to be in the loo when he needed to go, and tonight was no exception. Typical. When it seemed she was never going to come out, he used the bathroom downstairs before tiptoeing quietly out of the house into the thin night air. The bathroom light was still on when he looked back.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The coffee machine sent its pungent aroma to overwhelm the delicate smell of the surrounding beech forest, still damp with the night’s dew. The first of the semi-prepared food was almost ready by the time the fleet of vehicles had disgorged their bleary eyed passengers. There was a queue for coffee before the last few had disembarked.

  A member of the film crew had been assigned to help Nick, and soon breakfast was ready for the ravenous and focused team, who waited impatiently to be fed so they could get on with their day’s work. By their second coffees, everyone was up to speed with the jobs they had to do, well aware there was no room for expensive mistakes on what they all prayed would be the last day on location. Jimmy had made it very clear at yesterday’s final briefing that they had enough money for one day’s filming, and one day only. “But hey,” he’d said at the end of his pep talk, “no pressure.”

  People moved to their respective tasks with a contained sense of urgency as they waited for the sun to rise. They’d been frustrated by the delay caused by the accident, not least because they hadn’t been paid for the days spent lolling about in overcrowded motels – and the resulting atmosphere hadn’t escaped Tim and his team.

  Eager to make amends, Tim was already in costume when he arrived, and was having his make-up applied when Jimmy opened the door of his little caravan, stepping in without waiting to be asked.

  “Come in, Jimmy,” said Tim, trying to make a point which seemed to completely bypass his director. He could feel Jimmy’s stress, and respected it, but he didn’t need it. He knew that if Jimmy wasn’t stressed then the crew wouldn’t give everything to their work, but it was stress that had to be directed at everyone else, and not at Tim or Mike. They needed a zone of tranquillity around them in order to concentrate fully on the day ahead. They were the men literally putting their lives on the line for the sake of entertainment.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked, calmly. “I can send Gwen to get you breakfast?”

  “No time.” Jimmy sat nervously chewing nicotine gum.

  Mike knocked on the door and climbed in, also not waiting to be asked. Tim sighed.

  In the relative peace of Tim’s caravan, which was basic to the point of rustic in comparison to his trailers back home, the three men again went over the plans for the day. The sound man joined them and fitted Tim and Mike with their ear pieces. It seemed very straightforward, and Tim wished Jimmy would get on with it. He’d always been a quick learner, and was confident he’d mastered the art of driving the jet well enough to get from the top of the valley to the lake as if he’d been doing it his whole life, and still be in time for an early lunch. But Jimmy wasn’t taking any risks, and only when he was finally convinced Tim and Mike knew what they were doing did he go on up to the start positions.

  Mike and Tim were silent on their quick flight up to the head of the river. Mike landed briefly to let Tim out, and to allow the crew to attach the deer carcasses, then he took off again, disappearing over the ridge behind the gravel beach.

  Jimmy had followed them up in the other machine, which set down out of view.

  The boat was fuelled and ready. One of the crew was taking it for quiet runs up and down the river, before bringing it back and tying it to the log.

  An expectant tension hung around the crew as Jimmy waited for the cinematographer to give the all clear for filming to begin. Tim’s make-up artist made the final touches and adjusted his sunglasses, while the charges in the gravel were checked and, finally, Jimmy called, “Action!”

  Mike’s chopper, heavily laden with the dead weight of three adult deer swinging slowly on a wire beneath, rose up from behind the ridge. The stuntman, Bill, leaned out from the passenger seat and aimed his rifle at Tim, who from a standing start began running towards the boat, dodging the charges popping in the sand beside him. The deer carcasses landed on the beach with a series of sickening thumps, and the chopper reared back and up, but then zoomed down to tree height, and from there the firing started in earnest. Tim ducked into a running crouch, zig zagging his way to the boat, and leapt in.

  “Cut!” yelled Jimmy. “Bloody good, everyone,” he said, before checking the cameramen were happy. “That’s fine. Once more to be sure and while we have the sky.”

  They did the scene three more times before Jimmy was satisfied he’d got the best out of it and called a coffee break. The morning was warming up by the time the next scene was ready to go, and Tim was starting to sweat in the merino layers the costume department had provided.

  “I don’t think you met Bill, your shooter, did you Tim?” asked Mike. “Don’t worry, he does very well considering he’s not wearing his glasses. I think he can see the difference between live and dummy ammo when he’s loading up. Anyway, you’ll soon find out.”

  Tim laughed, as was expected. They were standing around waiting for the next scene, drinking coffee, sharing stories and a few bad jokes to pass the time until Jimmy was ready.

  Tim’s PA came up and asked for a private word. The dance clip had had over six-and-a-half million views on YouTube, and the likes now outnumbered the dislik
es. She’d done a survey of the comments, and it seemed most viewers thought Tim had been dancing that way on purpose.

  This was the best news he’d had all week, especially since the coverage was completely free of charge, thanks to his companions in Auckland. He’d have to watch it when this was over, so he could replicate the moves for the talk shows when he got home.

  Happy,Tim went back to sit with the boys, and Mike pulled out a pack of tatty cards to deal a game of five hundred on the stones in front of the log.

  The morning dragged on. Nick produced a round of French pastries to general acclaim, but was worried he might not have brought enough coffee. The machine had been working overtime and it was only ten a.m.

  Finally, Jimmy signalled they were ready to start the next scene, which had to segue into the one they’d just filmed.

  Jimmy called “Action”. Tim ran down the beach again, leapt over the side of the boat into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The twin impellors roared into life and the exhausts sputtered at the back. He reversed into the current and then, turning hard, put the throttle down. The boat lifted, taking off at full speed for the next hundred metres until Jimmy called “Cut” into Tim’s earpiece.

  They did another take to be sure they’d got it, and so as not to lose the light decided to move straight on to the next scene rather than break for lunch.

  “This time,” said Jimmy, “we’ll film the long run up the river. Go as fast as you can, Tim, but remember to listen to Mike’s instructions. By all means do a few fancy turns if you think you can, but do not under any circumstances disobey Mike or try anything we haven’t rehearsed. Clear?”

  Tim looked Jimmy in the eye. “Clear!”

  Thirty minutes later, Tim was slouched comfortably behind the steering wheel in the boat, idling midstream, waiting for Mike’s voice in his ear. Jimmy had the drones in position and Mike and Bill were doubling round and about to start their swoop towards the fleeing jetboat.

  “GO, Tim – action!” roared Jimmy’s voice in his ear.

  Five-hundred metres behind him, the R22 zoomed out from behind the ridge, straight down the river towards Tim, who by now had the boat at full speed, the bow lifted, the hull planing as if it were dancing on a cloud.

  “Left,” said Mike, and Tim banked the boat around the bend ahead to the left, slowing just a little before using the width of the channel to weave from side to side, nearly touching each riverbank in the process.

  “Less weaving, mate,” called Mike in his ear. “Bloody shallow in those parts: left leftleft.”

  Bill was leaning out of the cockpit beside him, rifle at his shoulder, hair whipping around his glasses. Below them and out to the side, the drones buzzed in formation, their cameras trained on the boat.

  Just in time, Tim took the narrower but deeper channel to his left. The river was starting to open up as a series of narrow routes over the gravel bed coalesced across the widening valley floor, like a plait unravelling. The R22 gained on him, but he sped ahead and again went too close to the bank on one side, hitting shallow water and skidding across the sand and gravel below. The boat wobbled perilously, but he kept his foot flat to the floor and amazingly it found grip again in the next channel and stabilised.

  “Bloody hell, Tim, cut it out!” yelled Mike. “We’ve got enough to worry about up here.”

  Bill, leaning out the side of the chopper and balanced precariously on one of the struts, was taking aim and letting off shots which landed in puffs of river sand and water around Tim.

  “Right, left, left, straight ahead in the main channel for the next half kilometre, Tim, just drive bloody fast. NOTHING else.”

  Tim heard Mike, but the thrill of the chase was too much. His heart was racing, the wind was in his hair, he knew he looked fantastic standing over the steering wheel of this wonderful craft, light pressure on the steering wheel all that was needed to slide into bends and power out. He screamed into the air, knowing the drones would get his whoops of triumph against this amazing backdrop of mountains and bush. In his mind’s eye he could see the selected cuts of this sequence playing on chat shows for the next year, and who knows, a nomination for Best Supporting Actor might be in the offing. He looked back at the chopper, cursing for dramatic effect, completely forgetting to take the next left turn as Mike screamed the instruction into his ear.

  Beneath the boat there was suddenly only a sliver of water a couple of metres wide, between heaped gravel banks. All thoughts of Hollywood disappeared in a trice as he reacted in a split second, levelling the boat in the shallows before booting it straight ahead, hearing the hull scrape across the gravel. The boat bounced a few times and he gripped the steering wheel hard, but didn’t stop reacting as the boat took off into the air before dumping down into a fast, full-flowing grey-green current of deep water. He banked the boat to the left, flicking a spray of white water up to the helicopter behind him, fist raised, punching the air, yelling in triumph. He pulled the trim back, feeling the bow rise up; the boat lifted even higher in the water. Tim James felt young and strong – like the King of the Whole Goddamned World!

  “Listen to me you yankee bastard,” came Mike’s relieved voice in his ear. “You’re one of hell of a natural, but you do that again and I’ll deck you, movie star or not.”

  “Right, Boss,” yelled Tim, punching the air above him again, certain the drones had caught the whole thing.

  Mike could only admire the actor’s guts and outright skill. Not many experienced jetboat drivers could do what Tim James had just done.

  Up ahead the river formed two wide channels, and the rest of the way to the Lake looked uncomplicated.

  “Stay in the right-hand channel, boot it, Tim, and you should be fine.”

  In Tim’s other ear, Jimmy spoke to Mike, telling him to take the ’copter low and alongside the boat so Bill could get off some rounds at the runaway Tim. One of the drones moved in to capture the shot.

  Mike increased speed, swooping down towards the river, but was puzzled to see the windscreen in front of him suddenly and inexplicably obscured by a spray of his own vomit. Chewed French pastries and black coffee slid slowly down the inside of the curved plastic. In slow motion, Mike turned to look at Bill, but vomited again, this time right past Bill and out the open side of the copter. Mike tried to speak, but nothing happened when he attempted to move his mouth.

  Bill dropped his gun, and reached over Mike’s slumped body. Trying with all his might, he attempted to wrestle the controls out of Mike’s hands, but the machine, the increased speed and the low swoop conspired against anything he could do to stop the R22’s slow spin, straight towards the boat hurtling along directly beneath them.

  Tim looked up and, locking eyes with the terrified Bill, saw Mike slumped across the control panel. He instinctively braked, burying the bow of the boat, at the same time turning it hard right to get away from the helicopter’s line of fall and the lethal blades beating a death knell towards him. That’s when he felt the hull hit the gravel bank too fast, and it rose up beneath him, blocking the sun.

  Jimmy saw the rifle hit the stones, shattering on impact, and then watched with horror the slow-motion accident taking place before his eyes. One of the drones was caught in the blades and disintegrated, before the tip of the second blade hit the ground, buried instantly to a stop in the soft sand. The other blade arrested in a twisting mess before snapping off into the river, to be found two days later, five kilometres away washed up on the lake shore. The tail rotor kept turning chirpily, until it too smashed at full speed into the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces. The cabin of the chopper separated from the body and slumped sideways into the river, where it bobbed in the absolute silence that followed.

  The crew were already on their way when the first blade hit the sand bank, driving vehicles at full speed through the water and hurtling across the gravel banks. The continuity man got there first, leaping out of the cab and jumping straight into the river beside the helicopter.
Ducking into the freezing water he tried in vain to haul the unconscious Bill out of his safety harness, but all he could do against the current was hold the man’s head out of the water until others arrived. It took four men working together to release Bill from the tangled wreckage and drag him to the side of the river, where others arrived with warm clothing and first aid equipment.

  More men worked on freeing Mike. He, at least, was out of the water, and so it was easier to extract him from his seatbelt once they’d figured out the angle of the cockpit, while helpers in the river stabilised the cabin against the churning current.

  Nick was in the second 4WD to arrive on scene. Seeing that the men in the helicopter had been rescued, he looked downriver to where the upturned hull of the boat had been flung and pushed hard up against a bank. Fording the river in the 4WD, he reached the boat, leapt out of his vehicle and banged on the top of the hull, hoping to hear a response. There was no reply – only the sounds of the rescue upstream and more vehicles arriving. He heard Jimmy yell at everyone to get downstream to scan for Tim.

  Nick shrugged off his jacket, pulled off his shoes and plunged into the freezing water, now a dark muddy brown. Working his way around the side of the hull, he took a deep breath and dived under, trying hard to keep his grip against the current tugging him insistently towards the lake. With one final push he ducked down and pushed himself off the side. A few strong kicks and he came up into an air pocket under the boat. It was pitch black, so he had to feel his way around. The spongy back of one of the front seats hung down into the water, and he knew he was at the front.

  Just then the boat shifted forward, scraping the gravel bottom, every rivet in the hull groaning with the unaccustomed position. Nick was knocked off balance under the water, which rushed into his mouth. He kicked off the bottom, spitting and sputtering once he found air again. A piece of clothing wrapped itself around his legs. Pulling it up, he guessed it was Tim’s jacket. He could hear people yelling above, and he yelled back, telling them to stay where they were and to hold the boat steady. There was only room and air enough for one, and the air was running out.