Chapter 20
20
I love my job, but Monday mornings are a challenge even for me. Many authors work at the weekend. They have no concept of time if inspiration strikes and for those that hold down other full-time jobs, they set aside Saturday and Sunday for writing. This means they also carry out their administrative tasks on those days and my inbox is usually full when I get in. Today is no different and I scroll down, glad it isn’t yesterday morning. I woke up feeling jaded after the alcoholic cocktails I’m not used to drinking. I re-read Alien Hearts after a long bath before heading to the Sunflower retirement home.
I’ve given my friends an old laptop I’d held on to after shelving it for a more compact model. Everything’s getting smaller these days. Like girlfriends. Or so it seems. It didn’t take me too long to set up the Vintage Views website, since I’ve often helped authors and interns. Then we set up a Twitter account. Pauline will be able to show the others how to use it. Plus she and ex-receptionist Nora can touch-type and have offered to write up reviews. Due to her arthritis, Kath is grateful, along with other residents who are keen to write guest posts.
‘What’s the subject of the first post?’ asks Irfan and he yawns as he sits down opposite and passes me a mug of tea. He turns on his screen.
‘Nora’s is on how Mills & Boon has modernised and moved with the times. Kath’s will be next. She’s reviewing a non-fiction self-help book about coping with anxiety. Pauline has taken control of the Twitter account and I told her what I could about hashtags. There’s a lot to learn like how to use gifs and add tags to blog posts, but for complete beginners, they’re doing brilliantly.’
Irfan freezes in front of his computer.
‘Everything okay?’
‘What? Sorry, Violet… have you looked at your inbox yet? Something’s just dropped in.’
I click onto the relevant page. There’s a new, unopened email at the top. From Felicity.
Dear Irfan and Violet,
I’d like a brief meeting with you both this morning, if possible, to further discuss the loss of Gary Smith. 11 o’clock if that suits. Please RSVP to let me know.
Best,
Felicity
I look up at Irfan. ‘We haven’t had time to prepare our notes about the other authors and everything else Felicity wanted to know, like how we support them on social media and what we do to strengthen the editor/author bond.’
‘It’s too late now. I’ve got a meeting with marketing first thing and then must brainstorm with design about the cover for the latest Little Starfish story.’
For me, though, the next two hours pass slowly – surely Felicity didn’t truly doubt the children department’s efficacy? We had seven books shortlisted for prizes last year and have continually innovated, including putting together a starter pack to help debut authors get the most out of signings and school events. With the help of the publicity department, we’re proving increasingly successful at getting interviews into the national media. Many of those have brilliantly raised authors’ profiles.
It makes me realise just how much I want – no, need my job and how important this makeover of mine would be if I ever found myself back on the job market fighting against other editors to get a position.
By the time eleven o’clock arrives, I have a mental list, at least, of why what happened with Gary was just a blip.
‘After you,’ says Irfan, and his brow furrows as we head towards Felicity’s office. Like the side room, the walls are made of glass so that she’s able to see through to the open plan area. The pinched look on her face doesn’t alter as we go in.
‘Sit down, both of you,’ she says and nods towards the two chairs on the other side of her desk.
I’ve always liked Felicity. She is honest and down-to-earth. When she hired me, she said I still had a lot to learn about publishing, but my passion for children’s books won her over. During the interview, we’d had an animated discussion about whether it had been the right decision for Enid Blyton stories to be edited for a modern audience. She is also a huge fan of Paddington Bear and we chatted about whether the recent films had done the character justice.
If she were an item of stationery, she’d be a stapler. Uncomplicated and unassuming but holding everything together.
Felicity pushes away her keyboard and rummages underneath her desk. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t had time for breakfast and now wish I’d accepted one of Irfan’s low-sugar biscuits. Felicity sits back up, gets to her feet and hands us a bag each.
‘This isn’t the redundancy equivalent of a retirement clock, is it?’ mutters Irfan and cautiously peers in.
His face adopts a quizzical look. I inspect the contents of my bag. There’s a box of chocolates in the shape of a bookshelf, a beautiful gilt peacock notebook and mug that says Best Editor in the World on the side with an arrow pointing upwards.
‘I do hope you’ll both accept my apologies for what I said about Gary,’ she says and rubs her forehead. ‘I was completely out of order. Truth be told, I was having a bad week with one of the kids. And discovering that Beatrix Bingham was instrumental in poaching him… well, let’s just say the whole Earth Gazer debacle still feels raw. I shouldn’t have taken it out on two of my best editors. I apologise. I let my professionalism slip.’
‘I don’t know what to say. I thought I was in here to collect my P45,’ says Irfan.
‘I’m sorry I gave you that expectation. Business is steady, although we can’t afford to get complacent. We’re only as good as our authors. As for Gary, well – perhaps this would have happened sooner rather than later, anyway.’
‘Remember Callum Phinn?’ says Irfan.
Felicity and I nod. The three of us had been knocked sideways by his sensitive story of the gay son of a macho weapon systems operator in the RAF. He almost signed with us but, in the end, went for another publishing house, despite our clear marketing passion and long-term vision. Callum was a debut author and signed for a one-book deal offering more money instead of our two-book deal that showed more commitment. His novel didn’t do as well as expected and the publisher lost confidence and didn’t re-sign him.
‘One of a successful debut author’s most important skills is to realise they are only as good as their next book,’ says Irfan. ‘The five-star reviews and the raving publicists mean nothing if you don’t keep on top of the writing. Like Grace Webster.’
We all smile. A former television newscaster, she wrote laugh-out-loud young children’s books and despite her global success, was the most conscientious of all our authors.
‘I like Gary,’ continues Irfan. ‘I wish him all the best. I would have liked to publish his next books, but for lots of reasons, authors move on – we all understand that. I just hope he stays on track.’
Irfan and I stand up and thank Felicity once again for the gifts. She asks me to stay behind. I sit down again. She waits for the door to close.
‘This is awkward for me to say, Violet, and I do hope you won’t take it the wrong way.’ She picks up a biro and fiddles with it. ‘I can’t help but notice… lately… you…’ Her fingers grip the biro more tightly. ‘Okay. I’m just going to say it. Please don’t take offence for me making such a personal remark. Your appearance, it’s very different. And good for you,’ she adds quickly. ‘I mean, you looked great before and do now, just in a different way. I’m just concerned that, well, it’s a very glamorous look and?—’
I squirm. This is worse than Farah’s clumsy remarks. ‘I just wanted to get healthy and?—’
Felicity holds up her hand. ‘Violet. I’m pleased for you, but I need to know… is this all part of a plan to leave Thoth and push your career forwards with one of the Big Five? Because I truly value you as an employee and if you’re considering leaving, I’d like us to discuss what I can do to make you stay. Perhaps?—’
I digest her words. The changes I’ve made have already pushed my career prospects forwards. ‘Please don’t worry on that score. I love my job here and hope to build on what I’ve already achieved. Honestly. My new look… I just, I don’t know – thought it was time for a change.’
Felicity’s shoulders relax. ‘Really? What a relief. Thoth wouldn’t be Thoth without Violet Vaughan.’
For some reason, those words make me want to tear up.
‘And you are quite right. Change can be a good thing. I’ve had all sorts of different hairstyles over the years. Perms. Highlights. I even had dreadlocks as a student.’
I smile.
‘I’m truly glad you aren’t leaving us. You’d be sorely missed.’
Suddenly Mondays aren’t so bad after all. I head back to my desk. Irfan looks like a guilty puppy as he sits behind a half-eaten box of chocolates. I shall leave mine in the office overnight. I don’t want the temptation. Although I might just have one with a coffee, seeing as I didn’t have breakfast. I settle back in front of my screen and take a double-take at my screen. A message from Lenny has dropped into my inbox. This morning is full of surprises.
Hi Violet,
How are you? I hope everything is okay.
I’m sure I don’t need to mention this, but me letting you read Alien Hearts was done as a favour and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to anyone about this manuscript. Casey Wilde has found out that it’s been read before submission. I’d only let a few people take a look, like Hilary in accounts who’s a huge fan of dystopian novels and Dan in marketing. However, annoyingly, I lost a printed-out version I was taking home last month. I took it out of my briefcase at a book signing when I was looking for my phone charger and must have left it there. Casey says he had drinks with some woman at the weekend who’s seen it. He messaged me on Facebook but was reluctant to give more details, although it’s obvious he really liked her. Anyway, I know you wouldn’t do this to me, but I do need you to delete the file.
Cheers.
All the best,
Lenny
My appetite disappears and is replaced by a dull ache at the way he emails me in a friendly tone as if nothing has happened. And what about the comment making it clear that I didn’t figure as a contender for being the sort of woman Casey would like?
I haven’t looked at Lenny’s Facebook page again, but now I can’t resist. I wonder how Casey and Lenny have talked about me.
Is it possible he could fancy me?
I log in to Facebook with his password and click into the message Casey sent.
Hey Lenny
I’m messaging you privately on here so that – for your sake – our conversation doesn’t get picked up in your office. I met someone at the weekend who’s read Alien Hearts. It’s not even on submission at the moment. She said you were the source. I don’t want to say any more. She’s a lovely person.
Casey
A lovely person. Liquid heat fills my chest and for a moment expunges the cold Lenny left.
Hey Casey,
I’m sorry. You’re right – I was just so excited about the manuscript and appreciate you keeping this to yourself. I promise it won’t happen again. I can’t think who you’re talking about. But get used to it, Casey. You’ll have to get used to female fans fawning over you once this book is released.
Cheers.
Lenny
I grin when I see that Casey doesn’t dignify Lenny’s comment with a response.
‘I’d almost forgotten what that beaming smile looked like,’ says Irfan opposite me.
‘Just something stupid on Facebook.’
Perfect. I can relax. Casey’s a good sort. This makes me all the more intent on acquiring him. And that’ll teach Lenny for assuming it couldn’t possibly be me that he met. I deliberate over whether to now share his manuscript with Felicity and decide not. I’ll ask Casey on Saturday. Clearly he likes things doing by the book. I lean over the desk and pluck a single chocolate out of Irfan’s box and then put it back, recalling the low wolf whistle Hugo gave me this morning before he moaned that it was weird suddenly seeing someone in the friend zone as hot.
I click into Instagram. My last photo got more than sixty likes. That extinguishes the anger building over Lenny’s insensitive email. I lift up my phone and take a selfie in my work clothes. Irfan shoots me a strange look. I smile and go about the important task of choosing the right filter.