Chapter 10
10
‘Gary’s here?’ I ask Irfan. Authors never just drop into the office. We always make appointments if a meeting is required and usually, if they have one like Gary does, we’ve chatted with their agent first or they come along too.
While Irfan goes downstairs to collect him, I put the coffee on to brew in the side room. Gary appears at the door, holding a soggy umbrella. April is proving its reputation for showers. He takes off his jacket to reveal a smart shirt. On the front pocket is a popular designer logo. He looks like a book that’s been given a new cover to fit in with current trends.
Irfan follows him in and shrugs at me before sitting in the chair to my right. Gary sits opposite. I pass him his usual coffee, milky with one sugar. Gary smiles and hands me a plant. He glances through the glass wall and waves at one of the young interns. I haven’t seen Gary since his signing and he appears to have acquired a degree of aplomb in those three weeks.
‘I couldn’t resist it,’ he says.
‘An African Violet?’ I smile at the purple flowers. ‘Thanks, that’s lovely. But what have I done to deserve this?’
Gary takes a sip of coffee and puts the mug on the table. He stretches out and puts his hands behind his head.
‘I’m not the sort of person to get anyone else to do my dirty business, therefore I’ve come here alone to tell you both myself…’
Irfan leans forward. ‘Everything okay?’
‘First up, I just want to say how grateful I am to you two. It’s been quite a journey, this publishing lark, and you’ve both made me feel really at ease.’
This sounds like a goodbye. I don’t understand. We’ve just drawn up a second contract after talks with his agent.
‘It’s thrilling to work with you,’ I say.
‘Yes, the support we’re getting from retailers and the independents is fantastic,’ says Irfan.
We’ve invested a lot of our time in this author who needed instructing, from scratch, about keeping his writing tight and adding emotion, about marketing and social media platforms. Nothing pleases us more than seeing all that hard work pay off.
‘Thank you, but I won’t be re-signing.’ He takes another mouthful of coffee.
I take off my glasses. ‘Gary, we have big plans for you. Have you discussed this with your agent?’
‘It’s my decision,’ he says abruptly.
Irfan rubs a hand across his forehead. ‘I don’t understand. Your debut is doing incredibly well. We saw this as just the beginning of a very successful career. Like Violet says, we’ve got the next two years mapped out with strategies to take your career forwards.’
‘And I really appreciate the opportunity you gave me when no one else would take a chance. However, I’m signing with Alpaca Books.’
I flinch. ‘Let’s talk about this. What are they offering that we aren’t?’
‘I’ve met with Beatrix Bingham a couple of times – if you remember, she was at my launch.’
Irfan and I exchange glances.
‘She introduced me to Alpaca’s children’s fiction editor. Beatrix reckons within the year I could give up my day job.’
I’m speechless, as is Irfan, before he recovers and launches into his best sales pitch for Thoth. Poaching other publishers’ authors happens, but more discreetly than this – and not by making unsubstantiated promises. Children’s fiction isn’t even Beatrix’s area of expertise. As for Gary, Irfan and I have seen this before. A debut author has some success and develops a sense of entitlement that feeds their ego. They don’t understand that to grow and maintain a long-term career takes time and that one hit guarantees nothing.
When Gary leaves, Irfan heads for his desk, angry. For him, this means sharpening his pencils with vigour. I pick up the bin and brush the shavings into it as he calls Gary’s agent, who is equally unimpressed. Apart from anything else, he knows that his client’s na?ve announcement could deter me and Irfan from giving his debut the continued attention it needs.
I do my best to lose myself in another author’s edits for the afternoon and finally pack up my things at five. I turn off the screen and face the blank rectangle, immediately missing the distraction of the words and cursor. I’ve worked so closely with Gary; bolstered his confidence where I could; felt deep pride as I’ve watched his writing and promotional skills grow. But just like that, he’s cut ties. Just like Lenny.
I put on a lilac anorak and try not to think about this any more, that it might be because of something I do or the way I am. The weather is warmer now despite the rain and I’ve finally discarded my bobble hat. I step out of the lift. I blush as Hugo wolf whistles and I mouth at him to be quiet. Hugo complimented my new trousers yesterday. I had to buy them because I’ve gone down a dress size. At lunch all I could manage was a couple of the low-fat samosas Irfan brought in. The trousers are more fitted than my usual style. It’s the first time I’ve ever worn anything that isn’t completely comfy. I’ve never been a fan of high-heeled shoes, underwire bras or the ultimate work of the devil, thongs, but I had to do something as much of my old wardrobe is now too baggy.
I head outside and go over to Irfan and Farah who are still hanging around, despite leaving fifteen minutes earlier. I take a deep breath and wish I could walk straight past.
‘My lunch was great,’ I say to Farah. ‘You’re such a good cook. The spices in those samosas are lovely and subtle.’
She gives me a hug. ‘That must be Irfan’s excuse for eating so many – they were supposed to last a couple of days.’ She stares. ‘How are you doing? It seems like ages since I saw you at the Bubbles launch. Have you been in contact with Lenny?’
Lenny. That word didn’t hurt quite as much as it did seven weeks ago. At first, similar words jumped out from everywhere I looked. Like the John Lennon album in the supermarket. The historical thriller a fellow editor was reading, featuring Lenin. Then there was the Lenny Kravitz concert poster stuck on the wall outside the train station.
‘No. I’ve unfriended him on Facebook, but photos mutual friends have taken come up on my newsfeed. It’s just as well I don’t go on there very often.’
Farah raised her eyebrows.
‘They feature him and Beatrix out for meals or drinking or at publishing events.’
‘Glad I unfriended him too,’ she says.
‘And me,’ mumbles Irfan. He’s hardly said a word all afternoon.
‘We’ve been waiting – hoping you’ll come for coffee with us,’ says Farah and threads her arm through mine.
‘Please do,’ says Irfan. ‘I need help persuading Farah that there is no health scare big enough to warrant switching to soya milk.’
I manage a smile. ‘Sorry but I’ve got plans tonight.’
Farah holds me by the shoulders. It took me a while to get used to her way of touching people when she talks.
‘Does this mean… Have you met someone else?’
‘Farah, please, mind your own business. Come on. Let’s leave Violet to get on with her evening.’ Irfan looks at me apologetically. ‘Now you know why our children chose universities as far away from London as possible.’
Farah gives me the thumbs up before punching her husband’s arm. Guilt pinches my chest as I walk towards the Tube station. I didn’t exactly lie. I do have plans. They just don’t involve going out or romance. I’m starting a new book tonight. Then I will watch Charlotte’s Web . Children’s movies never fail to cheer me up. Tea will probably be a sandwich if I can face it. Last night Flossie and I shared a can of tuna, hers served in a bowl, mine on a slice of toast. The company of a cat is all I can cope with at the moment.
Friday used to be pizza night if Lenny was in – his was a meat feast, mine a margherita. We’d order potato wedges and garlic bread on the side. Afterwards Lenny would drink beer while I ate chocolate. Had he become bored with our routine? As I sit down on the train, I add this to the list of unanswered questions, although they are all asking the same thing: why wasn’t I good enough for him?
One hour later I’m at the front door of the block of flats I call home. Spits of rain hint at an oncoming downpour. Stormy clouds have assembled across the sky. It’s as if I’ve breathed them in and they’ve darkened my mood. I rummage in my handbag and can’t find my key. I’ve become good at losing things. First Lenny, now Gary – is this how it’s going to be? A doomed love life? A failed career? Just when I thought things were going really well.
I look up at the sky. The atmosphere feels weighted and close. It makes me want to scream, to run, and somehow cut through it. Perhaps that’s the answer. Leaving my job, leaving London, and starting again abroad. I could stay with Mum and Ryan. No one need know that I’m the woman who lost her boyfriend and most promising author to boot.
I sigh and shake myself. Kath wouldn’t approve of a pity party. I finally find the key right down at the bottom of my bag and slide it into the lock. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. It must be months, years, since I last cried. I’m just about to push open the door when running footsteps approach from behind, accompanied by deep breaths. I turn to see a woman around my age bent over, hands on her knees, gasping. It’s almost like someone is chasing her. I glance over her shoulder but no one’s there. She straightens up, cheeks red, forehead perspiring, and looks at her watch. Her catwalk cheekbones contrast with her casual jogging gear.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask as she goes onto the lawn and studies the building before sitting on a bench. It’s positioned in front of a cherry blossom tree, next to a high wooden bird table that residents keep supplied with crumbs and seed.
‘What? Oh. Sorry. Did I startle you?’ Her face breaks into a smile.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask.
‘Not really. I should have rung whoever placed the ad first, but thanks anyway. I’ve come about a room in one of these flats. I thought I’d suss out the building first before ringing. I shouldn’t have worried. It’s a quiet, lovely area and this front garden is so pretty.’ The jogger gets up and walks over across the lawn edged with peonies and roses in blossom.
‘Actually, it’s me who placed the ad. I’m looking for a flatmate. Would you like to come up to take a look?’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ She gives a white smile. ‘I’m Bella.’
‘Violet.’
‘Well, if you’re sure it’s not inconvenient. I have a habit of calling on people at the worst moment. Like when Gran’s in the middle of putting on her tights or my brother has just plastered his face with shaving foam.’
I laugh. ‘No. My diary’s completely empty of late.’
She raises an eyebrow.
‘I recently broke up with my boyfriend.’ Why did I say that? Bella’s just got one of those faces that makes you want to tell the truth.
‘I’m sorry.’ She pulls a sympathetic face. ‘That’s why the room is available?’
I nod and she follows me in and up the stairs.
‘Would you like me to take my shoes off?’ she asks as I open my flat’s door.
I think Bella and I will get on very well.
‘Would you mind? Thanks.’ I take her anorak and hang it on the coat stand. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on. Do you take sugar and milk?’
‘Could I just have a glass of water? I’m gasping after that run.’
When I come back, she is on the sofa tickling Flossie’s ears.
‘I see you’ve made friends with the most important member of the household.’