Chapter 7
7
The upper terrace, Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Making it up as you go along
Tuesday
A s soon as I’ve made some coffee, I grab the bakery bag, tuck my laptop under my arm and head off up the garden.
Once I’ve installed myself on the top terrace lounger, I check out a few blogs about how to fill gardens with wildlife, then I channel my inner fairy, and three strawberry tarts later my mind is working faster than my fingers can type.
It’s funny when I write. Sometimes it’s painful, then other times, like today, it’s effortless. A couple of hours later I’m reading through what I hope is a final draft.
The first clue I have that I’m not alone is the shadow falling across my keyboard, and a second later Miles’s shorts appear by my shoulder.
‘You’re really writing about fairies?’
I sigh. ‘With so little time to turn this around, I could do without the interruptions. But, yes.’
He holds out the drink he’s carrying. ‘Brains work better when they’re hydrated. I thought elderflower cordial with fizzy water might help.’
The ice chinks as I take the glass from him. ‘That’s very thoughtful. I didn’t have you down as an elderflower kind of a guy.’
He looks guilty. ‘I’m not. I used yours. I hope that’s okay?’ He frowns. ‘I have another question too– how do you write about the habitat of something that doesn’t exist?’
I take in a breath. ‘There are two kinds of people, Miles: those who don’t believe and those who keep an open mind. That’s the difference between us. It’s why I got the call, not you.’
‘So what have you said?’
I shrug. ‘Never light a bonfire without checking for fairies first, grow pollen-rich plants, there’s a list of flowers suitable for fairy crowns… I also said to encourage spiders because fairies use their webs to spin cloth for fairy dresses.’
‘Put like that, it almost sounds real.’
I laugh. ‘People like you might read it as parody. It’s a bit of fun, but deftly done, what’s not to like?’
‘So it’s escapism?’
He’s one of those irritating people who want a definition for everything.
I roll my eyes. ‘If you think, on balance, if life is better with fairy wings in it or without, I know what most of my friends would say.’
He shrugs. ‘When you put it like that…’
I give up. ‘If something makes you feel better, why knock it?’
‘ And you get paid for this? ’
Now I’m the one smiling. ‘I’m hoping so, if they like what I’ve written. I won’t be sending them anything if I talk to you all afternoon though, so if you don’t mind, I’ll get on.’
He’s still standing there.
‘Why are you looking at me like I’m a rare species?’
He’s blinking. ‘Is it my eyes, or are you wearing three dresses all at once?’
I blow out a breath. ‘Miles, I can’t go there now. Please just eff off back to your laptop.’ He still hasn’t moved. ‘Okay, I have loads of clothes I love and this way I get to wear them all. A lot of them are transparent, and doubling up minimises the shock to the public.’
He picks himself up after that. ‘Your laundry pile must be vast.’
I can’t believe we’re still going. ‘The thin fabrics dry in no time. So long as I don’t iron it’s manageable.’ I’m trying to wind this up now. ‘So are we done here?’
‘There is one more thing…’ He hesitates. ‘If you need an eye for detail, I can have this checked through for you?’
I draw in a breath. ‘A lot of people claim they’re fabulous proofreaders when they’re not.’
‘But I have to do it all the time, for board meetings and company stuff.’ He’s standing his ground. ‘Try me. It won’t take long. You don’t have to include the corrections if you don’t want to.’
It goes with the territory. An arrogant guy, confident in his own abilities, happy to blow his own trumpet. But he has picked up what I hadn’t even thought about; a second pair of eyes are good for spotting blunders, and I haven’t got anyone else lined up to help.
I try to sound as gracious as I can, while protecting myself at the same time. ‘Thank you. But only on the condition that you keep your judgemental comments on content entirely to yourself.’
‘It’s a deal. You never did leave me your details on a Post-it note, so I didn’t leave you mine.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘I’m still looking for the fruit bowl.’
‘Miles dot Appleton at Gmail dot com.’
‘Thanks Miles dot Appleton, check your inbox in ten.’
When I look up again, he’s gone. So much for him hanging around.