This is the final part of a fiction serial, in 816 words.
As that was the last card recovered from the island, Mel locked them in the safe and went home. Eddie Minchin had agreed to come into the editing suite the next day, and work until they had a rough cut. He was really delighted with the fact that Glen had gone off in the inflatable, destination and fate unknown.
That added extra frisson to the mystery of what had happened to Anita, and was a great hook for selling the rights to show the film.
He envisioned a seller’s market, with bidding from all the big names to show the final cut.
Eddie was a pro. He turned up on time, grabbed a coffee, and got to work in the editing suite on the second floor. Mel sat next to him, chain-smoking and suggesting cuts. He knew in his mind how he wanted the film to play, and he also knew he could trust Eddie to keep quiet about what he was seeing. A fat bonus and full credit for editing would guarantee that.
The only call he got that Sunday was from Mayhew senior. With no news about Glen and Anita, he had decided to return to Australia. He seemed a lot more positive. “I know my son. They will turn up, and when they do I want them back home in Oz for a nice rest”. Mel couldn’t have been happier to hear the news that he was leaving. One less thing to worry about. Mel had managed to sound very sympathetic, promising to call the old man’s mobile when and if he heard anything.
The Letris freaked Eddie out. He was suitably impressed though. “Christ, Mel. This is mammoth mate. They are going to be knocking on your door from the four corners of the world. You are going to make enough to take a very early retirement”. He did an excellent job, but there was a voiceover to arrange, as well as some music for the dead air bits, and to create tension.
They finished just before ten that night, with Eddie sworn to secrecy, and promising to come back the next day. Mel locked the cards away, and got a taxi home, stopping off near Paddington Station to buy a very greasy Doner Kebab for a late dinner. Back in his flat, he had a few phone messages on the land line that he didn’t bother to play. Girlfriends and colleagues could wait. He was sitting on the scientific equivalent of a volcanic eruption.
Early the next morning, he walked into the office, pleased to see there were no reporters hanging around outside. Getting the attention of everyone, he reiterated that he was not to be disturbed, and that nobody was to say one word to the press or TV, on pain of dismissal. Six phone calls later, he had the mellow voice of Sean Pertwee agreed for the voice-over, and a young Japanese guy who had been pestering him for months jumped at the chance to deliver an electronic soundtrack.
Once those two were involved, he would need strict non-disclosure contracts, so he rang Tricia de Vries, and got her busy with those. Keeping this momentous news a secret was the hardest part of the whole project, and he stayed sober until all the T’s were crossed, and the I’s dotted.
Joining Eddie in the screening room at just after ten, they went through the rough cut, then retired to the editing suite to clean it up. Mel was so pleased with that, he took Eddie for an early dinner at Topo Gigio, and they necked three bottles of Pugliese while congratulating each other on an amazing film.
He slept well that night, happy that he had an almost complete film to tout around, short a narrator and soundtrack of course, but they were used to that. He dismissed a call from Carolyn on his way home. She could do one, as her radar was obviously working overtime. No way was he going to allow Pangea Films to even be remotely aware of what was about to explode. Not just on the TV and cinema circuits, but on every news channel around the world.
The possibilities were endless, and so was the financial gain.
Next morning, he was in around nine, telling Ursula he was taking no calls. Busy writing a synopsis on the film to send to prospective clients, he was not best pleased when she came into the office anyway, looking perplexed. “Mister Mayhew is here, waiting in reception. He is demanding to see you, Mel”.
He shook his head, and smiled. Then told her that old man Mayhew had gone back to Australia. What she said next gave him a cold feeling in his stomach, and he reached into the drawer for both his vodka, and cigarettes.
“No, not him. Glen Mayhew, the diver. He’s outside”.