Chapter Eighteen #2
‘Thank you.’ I sighed. ‘Although, maybe that’s not fair.
After what happened with us, I never really settled at university, and when I look back now I’m not sure how much of it was really her, or if I was just looking for an excuse, but …
’ I faltered when he squeezed my bare calf.
Just once, quickly. I took a deep breath.
‘Anyway, not long after she moved away with Dane, I went to cover a story for the Star. That side of things hadn’t been going very well, and my editor, Wynn, knew my heart wasn’t in it.
But, although the house was paid off, and Mum’s been letting me live in it, I—’
‘She’s been letting you live in it?’
I shrugged. ‘She bought it when I was little, before Cornwall was fashionable, and it’s just a mid-terrace, so the mortgage is paid and she wants to sell it. It would be a good chunk of money for her and Dane, and I don’t know how long I have.’
‘She shouldn’t be putting pressure on you.’
‘This is not the point of my story,’ I said, and Ethan nodded at me to continue.
‘I still needed money for food, and I did want to do well at work, so when Wynn asked me to meet this old woman who had supposedly seen the Alperwick Mermaid – you know I love that legend – well, it felt serendipitous. I thought I could get a funny piece out of it, something I would really enjoy writing.’
‘Someone actually contacted the paper to say they’d seen the mermaid?’
I smiled at the memory. ‘It will make sense in a minute.’
‘Go on, then.’ Ethan popped a salmon blini in his mouth.
‘I took my camera and notepad and walked to this address, which was one of the bungalows on the high road – you know which ones I mean?’
‘With the large front gardens and gable dormers?’
‘Gable dormers?’
‘A little window protruding from the roof, with sloped sides.’ He demonstrated with his arms, doing the universal sign for Pizza Hut.
‘Right, one of those. I knocked on the door, and at first I thought nobody was coming, that the email to the paper had been kids playing a prank and they were watching me from somewhere, ready to egg me or something. But then, eventually, the door opened and there was this old woman, and I knew the moment I saw her: I knew exactly who she was.’
‘Who was it?’ He was frowning, looking wary rather than interested, and I realized his thoughts might have been going down a different route: to prom night and police cars, to the end of us.
‘It was S. E. Artemis. Spence.’
Ethan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Your author? The Cornish Sands series?’
‘Exactly.’ The excitement from that moment filtered into my voice.
‘And I did not play it cool. I babbled about how much I loved her books as she led me into her living room, to a table where there was a pot of tea and a perfect, bouncy Victoria sponge. She listened to me patiently, and then, when I’d finished rambling, she told me she hadn’t seen the Alperwick Mermaid at all, but she wanted a PA. ’
‘What?’ Ethan said with a laugh. ‘She could have put an advert online – or in the paper if she’s not tech savvy.’
‘She said a journalist had the skills she needed. Good at writing, tenacity chasing things down. She didn’t want to pay for an advert, so she decided she would phone the paper, get journalists to visit her house under the guise of her having a story, until she found the person she wanted.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am so serious. She is shameless, Ethan. She’s funny and bright, and I’ve been working for her for two years.’
‘She wanted you to come here?’
I nodded. ‘Her mobility isn’t great, so I’ve been her eyes and ears in lots of ways since I started, and this time …
’ Nobody else knew what she’d offered me; I hadn’t even told Kira about it – or Mum.
‘She wants to write another book in the Cornish Sands series, to give Amelie and Connor their happy ending, after all these years. She said I could help her – that we could write it together.’
My heart was in my throat, because now I’d spent time with Ethan again, I was desperate for him to approve of this plan. It was a chance to be creative, to write something beyond the stories I’d started then discarded on my laptop.
‘Ethan?’
He was staring at his knee, as if the blue cotton was the most fascinating thing he’d seen. After a moment, he looked up. ‘Why don’t you write something of your own?’
My hope dimmed. ‘This is Amelie and Connor, Ethan. You know how much I wanted them to be together. I read you some of their letters.’
‘I do,’ he said cautiously. ‘But you’re their reader, not their creator. You’re good enough to write something original, something that’s entirely yours, and Spencer …?’
‘Spence,’ I corrected.
‘Spence could help you with that. She was well known, well loved. She must still have contacts in publishing, especially if she’s thinking of resurrecting her career.
If she really wanted to help you, then she’d support you writing what you want to write, not use you for something that will help her reputation and bank balance. ’
‘She said we’d be equally credited.’
‘But will readers notice?’ He pursed his lips.
‘If it gets published, then will anyone notice the name Georgie Monroe on the cover, or will they be focused on S. E. Artemis? Are you sure she even intends to finish it, or is it this supposed prize she’s enticing you with, so you’ll keep working for her, keep giving into her requests? ’
I sat back, surprise making me mute for a second. ‘But you … you were always so supportive of me – of my writing. Even when you couldn’t—’
‘I was, and I still want to be,’ he said. ‘You’re a great writer. I loved the stories you showed me. And I was hoping that, one day, I’d see news about you publishing your first book. But is this it, Georgie? A rehash of someone else’s old characters? Is it what you want?’
‘It’s a great opportunity.’
‘That sounds like a sentence someone else has put in your head.’ He downed his water, then poured more into his glass, his movements jerky, some spilling onto the rug. ‘You need to do things for you , not for someone else.’
‘I am doing things—’
‘It sounds like Spence is taking advantage of your good nature,’ he barrelled on. ‘And I know it was hard with your mum, that she didn’t always give you the freedom to be fully yourself. This seems similar.’
‘Ethan.’
‘And isn’t that why we broke up?’ he said, quieter now. ‘Because you accused me of prioritizing Sarah over myself? Sacrificing my future for her? You said I needed to be loyal to myself first, then other people – and you were right. So what about you? What about what you want?’
‘But this is a book!’ I sounded frantic, because I didn’t want him to be making sense. ‘This will be a book with my name on the cover. It’s guaranteed to get published.’
‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘And you deserve one with only your name on the cover. You always have. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough, that you have to settle for second best.’
I swallowed, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve rather than turn into tears.
‘And you’re …’ He shook his head.
‘I’m what?’
‘I know we’ve only spent a few hours together, but …
the low phone battery, the camera – they’re just small things, but you used to be so organized.
The Georgie I knew would have had two spare camera batteries with her, her phone charged to one hundred per cent before she left the house.
You would have had a list of questions or bullet points written down in your notebook, even if the article was a cover for something else.
You didn’t have as much confidence as you should have, and there was a lot standing in your way, but you were determined.
This thing with Spence, it feels like you’re giving up. You don’t seem sorted, Georgie.’
‘You don’t know anything about me now,’ I reminded him.
‘And anyway, what about you?’ I wanted to meet his attack with one of my own.
‘You were so loyal – to me, to Sarah, everyone. Now all I see are these … these different women on your social media. A new model for each new mini-break; bland smiles and shitty little captions. What’s happened to you ? Are you sorted?’
I held my breath, waiting for his anger, his denial.
Instead, he stared at me for a beat, then replied in a low, calm voice.
‘You can hate me for what I’ve said about Spence’s book, and what I’ve noticed about you.
And you’re right about me. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done, and my love life isn’t worthy of a single heartfelt letter.
’ He gave me a quick smile, a flash of bitterness that was gone in a second.
‘You can shout at me if you want to – I probably deserve it. And you can tell me I’m wrong, that I should keep my dickhead opinions to myself, but after that … ?’
He looked worn out, like he was desperate for me to agree to just one thing.
I nodded.
‘I really don’t want to fight any more,’ he said.
‘Me either.’ I didn’t want to shout at him. I wanted to sort out the jumble of questions his words had turned Spence’s offer into. Was he right? Was she using me?
Ethan stood up, and for a moment I thought he was going to go upstairs again, put as much space between us as possible.
Instead, he stood in the middle of the room, between the sofas arranged in their companionable layout and the French windows, where the rain was still pelting against the glass, the rumbles of thunder continuous, like giant marbles let loose on a wooden floor. He held out his hand.
‘Dance with me,’ he said, and I was about to shake my head when he spoke to the house. ‘Sparks, play “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train.’
I laughed and said, ‘Really?’ but I was already getting to my feet, joining him in the middle of the room, because never mind the house with its impenetrable exits, Ethan had me completely trapped: there was no way I could resist him now.