STUPIDLY BRILLIANT
STUPIDLY brILLIANT
F or six weeks, all I do is write, eat, occasionally sleep, repeat. I take Columbo for walks in the forest or along the coast, and I go to the village when we need supplies, but I don’t stray too far from the cabin or my laptop and I rarely see another human being. There have been no more strange incidents or islanders—possibly because I’ve locked myself away so I haven’t seen any—and I’ve settled into a routine. I’m finally writing again and it feels good. But I still can’t sleep for more than a few hours—despite drinking gallons of Cora’s bog myrtle tea, which is surprisingly delicious—and there are permanent dark shadows beneath my eyes. I write all day and almost all night, every night, and it feels stupidly brilliant. Sometimes I feel so exhausted I think I might fall over, so I sit back down at my desk and write some more.
Admittedly, the book started out as Charles Whittaker’s story about an author on an island, but I have taken his idea and turned it into something of my own. Perhaps something even better, something that my readers will enjoy. I genuinely believe this might be the book that gets my career and my life back on track. I received a typed letter from Kitty a couple of weeks ago and she’s excited too. There is no postman on the island; Cora gave it to me when I was last in the shop, and it’s the only piece of correspondence I’ve had from the outside world since I arrived here. I confess life is much quieter without access to emails, WhatsApps, news websites, and social media. The cabin doesn’t even have a TV. There is nobody and nothing to disturb me or distract me from the book, and I truly believe that this little Scottish island might be just what I needed. It makes me sad to think how few messages there might be if my phone did work. Kitty is the only person who knows I am here. The only person who still cares. I keep her letter in a little drawer in the desk, and I take it out again now.
Dear Grady,
The new book sounds wonderful and I can’t wait to read. I knew you could do it!
I know you’ll send it when you’re ready but the sooner the better.
Hoping I’ll have it in time for the London Book Fair.
Kitty
xx
I don’t think I could do my job without someone else believing in me. That person is Kitty, and I am determined to repay her kindness. I don’t feel guilty about Charles; the man is dead. I’m sure he could have published the book if he had wanted to, but instead he hid the manuscript beneath the floorboards, and to be honest, it has taken a lot of hard work, rewriting, and editing to turn it into the story it is now. My story.
At this stage in the process I would normally print the book out before starting a second draft, but I don’t have a printer, just my laptop. I stand and feel dizzy. The edges of my vision blur a little and I have to lean on the desk to steady myself. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep, I mustn’t even try. And I mustn’t let my mind wander to thoughts of other things. Like my wife. She isn’t here. How could she be? Why would she be? I need to focus on my work and move on. I can’t slow down until the book is ready.
I must keep writing.
Abby was always my first reader.
Mustn’t get distracted.
This will be the first book of mine she hasn’t read.
Need to focus on the work. Only the work.
Columbo is staring at me and I think I might have been talking out loud. It doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Just tired. I think I always lose a few marbles when I spend this many hours at my desk. I haven’t had a haircut for a couple of months, and I haven’t shaved for weeks either. Being cut off from the real world for this long is liberating, but I’m not even sure what day it is anymore. In the hope that it is a weekday and the shops might be open, I head into the village.
“Hello, Grady,” says Cora as I hurry into Christie’s Corner Shop. She’s one of the few people I have seen and spoken to lately, and I’ve seen her only because I need food and this is the only place to get it. I seem to bump into Sandy almost every time I leave the cabin too, but that has been a happy coincidence. I like Sandy. In another life I think we could have been friends. “How is the book?” Cora asks, interrupting my daydream. My mind has been drifting more than normal.
“That’s why I’m here, actually. You said that if I ever needed anything that wasn’t in the shop you could get it for me.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I need a printer.”
“A printer?”
“Yes. So that I can—”
“I might be old but I’m not daft. I do know what a printer is.” Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Does this mean the book is finished?”
“Yes and no. It’s just a first draft.”
Her smile fades. “How many drafts do you need to do before it is done?”
“Three, usually. If the book behaves itself.”
She looks completely crestfallen. “How long do drafts two and three take?”
“That’s a bit like asking how long a piece of string is.” I laugh, she doesn’t. “But they normally take less time than draft one. A few weeks at most.”
“Then good for you.” She beams as though she is genuinely happy for me. “And good for us,” she says beneath her breath.
“What do you—?”
“Did you have a printer in mind?”
I do and I’ve already written it down for her. It’s the same model I had back in London. It’s basic but it will do the job and it’s all I can afford. I grab some more food while I’m here, a few more lamb ready meals, some milk, and two boxes of bog myrtle tea. When I count out my cash I realize I don’t have much left, but hopefully there’s enough to feed myself and Columbo until the book is ready. Cora takes a KitKat from the chocolate stand by the checkout and adds it to my bag of groceries.
“That’s on me,” she says. “I know they’re your favorite.”
I don’t know why she is being nice to me but I like it.
It almost makes me sad to be leaving the place, but that’s exactly what I plan to do as soon as the book is ready to send to Kitty.
“I’ll miss this little shop when I leave the island,” I say.
Cora frowns. “Why would you leave the island?”
“Well, as fun as it’s been, my work here is nearly done.”
Her smile returns. “We’ll see.”