Chapter Eleven
Jess
This time, Jess wears flat shoes and allows plenty of time.
There won’t be a repeat of the helplessness of the last meeting, even if her ankle does occasionally throb, making her wince.
She won’t let Alex see that. She won’t show any signs of weakness whatsoever.
Although, admittedly, perhaps turning up at the meeting with Nathan is a sign of weakness in the first place.
She’d meant her email resigning from her assignment as Alex’s editorial consultant to be strong, to be final, and she imagines she’s been summoned in order to retract that resignation.
She also imagines that Alex will be there for similar reasons.
Shockingly, she arrives before he does.
‘Should we wait for Alex, or … ?’ She feels mildly traitorous starting the meeting without him, though she’s not quite sure why.
‘No, no,’ Nathan says, opening his office door wide and gesturing for her to come in.
‘This has actually worked out well. There are some things I probably need to explain before he joins us.’ He pauses, a verbal paragraph break, and then launches into the reason for wanting to see her.
‘The thing is, I’ve known him a long time, Jess.
I don’t know if he’s told you, but we’ve been friends since university.
And I know him well enough to know that he’s embarrassed about needing help.
His first three books came relatively easy to him, and he got used to that.
He wrote some pretty cocky pieces about how you should write every day, how writer’s block is a fallacy – you know, all the classic arrogant young-male-writer stuff.
And then he found himself in a situation where he had to swallow some of his own words.
It’s not easy for him. And those MFAs, well …
they can be useful, but they can also breed a certain kind of contempt in writers, especially writers who were prone to contempt in the first place, to superiority about a certain kind of book. ’
None of this is news to Jess. ‘Yes. That’s why I don’t think this is ever going to work. This partnership, I mean.’ She feels her own ears getting warm, probably pink. ‘Writing partnership.’
‘I think it can,’ Nathan says. ‘I think you can be good for him, help him to lighten up. And if you don’t mind my saying so, I think he can be good for you, too.
He knows how to structure a story and develop characters – you’ll learn a lot from him.
And having his name attached to yours will definitely help, as and when you’re looking for your own book deal one day.
I think you just need some time to get used to each other.
If you can learn to see under that veneer of arrogance, which is really just a veil over his own embarrassment – and if he can get over his sense of superiority … ’
‘How long do you think that’s going to take?’
Conveniently for him, Nathan is saved from having to answer that question. There’s a knock on the door, and a flushed and flustered Alex trudges in.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Signal failure. Bloody Northern Line. I really tried to get here on time, but …’
Jess finds his grovelling apology a little baffling. Signal failures and other Tube-related delays are a common source of lateness in London, and people understand. Besides, it’s only a few minutes, and it may be a work meeting, but it’s a work meeting with an old friend.
‘Alex, it’s fine,’ Nathan says. ‘We’ve all been there with rush-hour Tube journeys.’
‘And just, like, the Northern Line in general,’ Jess adds. An olive branch she is offering: We’re all in this together. We’re just the same, you and me. Two aspiring writers just trying to make it through London life unscathed.
‘Yes, well. Nonetheless, I apologise.’
Nathan gestures at an armchair, inviting Alex to sit down.
‘I gather that this writing partnership has been off to rather a rough start?’
‘That’s one way to put it,’ Alex says.
‘We don’t agree on anything,’ Jess adds.
‘Alex often doesn’t agree with me when I’m editing him, either,’ Nathan says, ostensibly speaking to Jess, but looking straight at Alex. ‘But he usually comes around.’
‘You’re my editor,’ Alex says. ‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘Yes, well.’ Nathan clears his throat. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice with this, either.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘It’s time to stop dilly-dallying around with this novel. If you’re serious about it, then I want you to work with Jess on it. If you’re not, and you want to work on something different – that’s fine. But obviously, that will impact when we pay you the next instalment of your advance.’
Jess watches Alex. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard.
‘I see.’
‘And Jess – this could be the start of a brilliant writing career for you. I know I mentioned having your name in the acknowledgements and the marketing. But how about on the cover, as a co-author?’
Jess pretends not to notice Alex’s sharp intake of breath.
And she knows full well that Nathan is playing her, appealing to her dreams to get her to agree not to throw in the towel.
But knowing his tactics doesn’t make her immune to them.
She is already visualising her own novels piled high on the tables at her favourite South London bookshop, the one with bright blue bookshelves where she first laid eyes on Alex.
‘So, here’s what I propose.’
Jess has a feeling that whatever Nathan is about to say, it’s more likely to be an order than a suggestion.
Nathan reaches into his leather satchel, and pulls out a set of keys, which he slides on the desk towards the two of them.
‘I’ve got a lovely little house not far from London.
I Airbnb it out usually, but it’s clear for the next couple of weeks.
I want the two of you to go and spend a weekend there.
Jess – it’ll be a great place to take some pictures for Instagram.
Maybe even pictures teasing your collab.
Get readers excited. Re-engage Alex’s fanbase. ’
‘Tease our collab?’ Alex has brought out the air quotes again. ‘Is that some sort of TikTok language?’
Jess closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She doesn’t dignify this question with a response, and neither does Nathan.
‘I want you to come back from Godalming with an action plan, a full plot summary, some new chapters, some rewritten ones.’
‘That seems like a lot for one weekend.’
‘You can go for longer if you like,’ Nathan says, smiling. ‘As I said, it’s free for two weeks.’
Jess and Alex make eye contact for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. She can see her own horror reflected in his eyes.
‘A weekend seems like plenty of time to get all of that done,’ she says quickly, to assuage the fears of both of them.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Nathan says. There’s a twinkle in his eye that seems to indicate he is enjoying this far too much. ‘I’ll email you both the address.’
With her peripheral vision, Jess tries to decipher Alex’s body language.
He’s picking at his cuticles. He opens his mouth several times as if about to protest, and then closes it again, having presumably found nothing to say – or at least nothing that he is comfortable saying in front of Jess.
She almost feels sorry for him in this moment, until she remembers that she is trapped too.
Forced proximity, Lily will no doubt say when Jess reports this conversation. I love it.
Jess loves it too. It’s one of her favourite tropes. Inside the safety of novels, though. Not in real life. Especially not hers.