Promise
Promise
ONE DAY IN MAY, TEN MONTHS AFTER THEIR MOVE back to Ireland, the three of them still living in her father’s house, Ellen was rummaging through her writing bureau when she came across Ben’s notebook. She’d never written a word in it; all she’d used it for was to store letters and clippings in its back pocket. She opened it now and read again the message he’d written on the flyleaf: To Ellen, for the book ideas. All my love, B xxx.
Even after the passage of so much time, she could see twenty-year-old him clearly in her head. He’d been full of fun. They’d been perfect for each other. If he’d stayed, if only he’d stayed. She thought of the heartbreak she would have been spared. She’d never have gone to London, never met Leo in Paris.
But if he’d stayed, she’d never have had Juliet and Grace, and that was unthinkable – so maybe after all it was best that he’d been her first fleeting love.
She flicked through the empty pages of the notebook. You have a go at a novel , he’d said, and I’ll give a music degree my best shot . Promise me you’ll try , he’d said, and she’d promised.
She jumped on in her memory to the time, years later, when she’d sat on the deck with Danny, the night before his wedding when she thought she might be pregnant. She remembered telling him someone had said she should try writing a book. Definitely you should , he’d said – and when she’d countered that she was too busy, he’d told her that if she wanted to do something badly enough, she’d find the time.
She thought it might have begun then, the story that had been coming together bit by bit whenever she had an idle moment. She hadn’t jotted it down, so full her London life had been, but she was aware of it, curled up quietly within her, growing slowly, waiting patiently for her to pull it out and put some kind of shape on it, and give it a voice.
Since returning to Ireland she’d been preoccupied with settling the girls into their new lives and sorting work for herself, but now that things weren’t so hectic, maybe she should begin to explore this. Maybe the time had come to keep her promise.
What if you try and don’t fail?
She would use the notebook, even though typing on her computer would be quicker. Somehow, the notebook felt like the right place. She opened it again and found a biro and started scribbling, the words rushing out as fast as she could form them.
Prologue: An ill-judged one-night stand that results in a pregnancy, an infant girl given up for adoption by a frightened new mother, scarcely more than a girl herself.
Main story: The parallel lives of mother and daughter over the ensuing years, their near-encounters and mutual acquaintances – they live unknowingly in the same town. The accidental reunion as they lie in adjoining hospital beds twenty-five years after the adoption, each having given birth to new babies. A chance remark in a conversation leading to the discovery of their identities.
Maybe an epilogue, the two babies growing up together? Nothing very groundbreaking in the premise. A story of love and heartbreak and serendipity, a testament to the enduring power of love with a note of hope at the end, the closing of a circle and the start of another. The kind of warm story she herself liked to read. What did she have to lose by giving it a try?
After playing around with her plot for a week or so, she opened a document on her computer and began writing the story. Over the weeks and months that followed, whatever else she was doing, she devoted at least an hour a day to it. Every day she wrote a little more, every day her word count rose.
It wasn’t plain sailing, far from it. There were times when she read over the previous day’s words and deleted every one. There were nights she lay in bed, unable to sleep because of a stubborn plot glitch, wondering how she’d ever thought she could write a book. But there were days too when her fingers flew over the keys, and her characters did her bidding, and she felt she might have something worth holding on to.
She told nobody except Danny, who she figured was far enough away to keep the secret.
You’re writing a book – how fantastic is that! Yes, I remember you saying something that night – what took you so long?? Best of luck, and keep me posted. I have a good feeling . . .
All fine here, Cormac and Mattie running rings around us like true American kids. Bobbi’s father is in hospital having a hip replaced – all that’s worrying him is how long he’ll have to stay off the golf course.
Love to your dad, and hi to the girls, look forward to everyone meeting up some fine day,
D xx
By early December she had a first draft, or thought she had. The story felt like it was finished. She titled it Norma and Caroline , the names of her main characters, and then thought it sounded too like Thelma and Louise, and changed it to What the Heart Believes .
She would set it aside till after Christmas. She’d forget about it for a month and then read it again, like she’d seen suggested somewhere. If she was still happy with it, she’d think about showing it to someone.
The notion was truly terrifying.