Tuesday 26th September
H alf past five. No sense now in even pretending to sleep. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour, but Jo padded into her lounge and opened the window looking out over the pistachio orchard. Pinpricks of stars pierced the blackness above the hillside, and somewhere a lone bird called, chu-kaar, chu-kaar, then silence. Soon the day would begin; a day like no other in her life.
She thought back to her wedding day; one which should have been similarly momentous, but somehow hadn’t been. She’d been too sick with nerves at the vast number of guests, the reception at The Savoy– Rees’s choice of course, where else? If it had been up to her they’d have run away to a tropical beach somewhere. If it had been up to her, would they have married at all?
Impossible to tell. When had any choice been truly hers as far as Rees was concerned? Talking to Sophie, whose experiences were so similar, she’d begun to understand that his behaviour had been predatory right from the start. What was hard to accept was that she’d been too na?ve to even half realise it. Maybe if Pam hadn’t died, it would have been different. So much would have been. But by far her biggest regret was that Pam and Sophie never had their chance to be together. Just a few more years and they could have had the life they’d always dreamt of.
Today was not a day to look backwards, or deal in what-ifs. Jo knew that. Today, at least, Pam would be recognised as the literary genius she’d been. It would have been pointless to try to hide who the real author of Only. Ever. You. was because Rees knew; only Sophie’s identity would remain a secret for as long as possible. Hopefully permanently. And Mum, and Sophie, who had known Pam better than anyone, had convinced Jo she was doing the right thing. No way would Pam have wanted Jo’s life to continue as it was.
The story would have gone up in the online edition of The Times at midnight, and given the time difference, about now bundles of newspapers would be making their way to corner shops, supermarkets and railway stations up and down the UK. Jo had decided she would read it. She had to. Just not yet. Let the secret sleep on for a little longer. It felt strange, having lived with it for so many years. Being without it was like having the shield she’d held against the world ripped away. But she wasn’t alone. Zina and Karmela would get her through today, if anyone could.
Reluctantly dragging herself away from the window, Jo headed for the bathroom, stripped off her pyjamas and turned on the shower. Hot, then cold, to chase away the last shadows of the night. But as she carefully applied her make-up no trace of exhaustion remained. Nor had the panic– the thing she feared more than anything– made an appearance. With every minute that passed she was feeling just a little stronger.
A light shone from the kitchen, so she hurried down the stairs and crossed the courtyard. Inside, Zina was smoothing a fresh white cloth over the buffet table.
“Have you seen it?” she asked Jo.
“Not yet. I didn’t want to read it alone. Is that a bit crazy?”
Zina hugged her. “Not in the least. But my contact’s done us proud. Come into the kitchen and I’ll make you a pot of tea.”
Jo followed Zina into the long, narrow space. Pots and pans were neatly stacked on shelves down one side and an enormous American-style fridge all but filled the end of one wall. A fan whirred overhead, dissipating at least some of the heat from the oven which emitted the sweet aroma of pastries warming.
A small table stood in an alcove, with a wooden chair on either side, where Zina indicated Jo should sit. “It’s not a large space, and I won’t trip over you if you’re there.” She filled the kettle, set it to boil, then opened her phone, shoving it into Jo’s hand. “Read.”
How strange to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. The article began with a physical description of Jo as she’d sat on the sofa for the video call, and named the retreat. She looked up at Zina.
“They’ve said where I am. Is that a good thing?”
Zina nodded. “It gets the name out there, if nothing else.”
Jo carried on reading. Everything was much as she’d said– as Zina had planned. How she’d been unable to resist reading the manuscript she found, how she’d shown it to her boyfriend, who had in turn shown it to a friend in publishing. How fast things had moved. Her regret that she hadn’t stopped it. Her plans for any future royalties.
And a final paragraph, one which was the journalist’s opinion alone. That whatever the rights and wrongs of what Jessica Rose had done, literature would have been all the poorer if the manuscript had died along with its author. Was that really true? Susan had said something similar, she thought, but her words had become lost in the dreadful misery of that night. Maybe she hadn’t been completely wrong to let Only. Ever. You. be published after all.
Zina set the teapot and a mug in front of Jo, and she angled the phone towards her. “Do you think that’s true?”
“Of course it is,” said Zina. “Think of the pleasure the story’s given so many people.”
“You know what? That alone makes it so much easier to face today.”
Zina leant down and hugged her again. Her warmth made it easier too.
It was clear over breakfast that everyone in the group had read the article, and their support wrapped around Jo like a protective blanket. Although they didn’t know it, it was something she needed pretty badly for the call she knew she had to make before the morning session.
Back in her room she sat at her desk, phone in hand. It would be quarter to seven in the UK, but Rees would most likely be awake. On the other hand he never ever picked up her calls. It was part of underlining who was in control, Jo now realised. But that was about to end. Although the thought made her even shakier, right now his habit of ignoring her would most likely play to her advantage.
Even so, she was relieved when her call went to voicemail.
“Oh, hi Rees. I was really hoping to speak to you, but I suppose this will have to do. I’ve come clean about who really wrote Only. Ever. You. I’ve done an interview for The Times and it’s been published today. Anyway, thought you should know. I’m expecting some social media flak so I’m turning off my phone until it blows itself out.” Like hell, she was. But two could play at ignoring calls.
As usual, she left her mobile in her bedside drawer before crossing the landing to the studio. Karmela and Susan were both already there, scribbling away on this morning’s prompt: regeneration. Jo could barely believe they had only four more days of the writing retreat left. She’d come to love everything about it: the sharing of her knowledge, the mentoring, the coaxing the best out of everyone, but more than anything, the camaraderie. Life at home would be so very empty.
Home. Curtis. She owed him, at least, an explanation. It was a pretty sad state of affairs that he was the only one, but maybe that could change too. She dashed back to her room and messaged him a link to the article, saying she was sorry if she’d let him down. No missed call from Rees. Maybe he was still in bed. With his girlfriend. She wondered if a boorish middle-aged man with a paunch would be so attractive when his most lucrative source of income dried up.
When she returned to the studio everyone was there, even Iain, stoically plodding away on his keyboard. He was the one member of the group Jo was worried about, especially since Karmela’s confession on Friday. Although he was outwardly cheerful, something about his demeanour made her think that the lights had gone out inside and she guessed it had little to do with his struggles with his writing. Once the stress of today was over, was there anything she could do to help? He’d been so very solid in his support of her.
She glanced at the clock on the wall.
“OK everyone, pens down.” She smiled at them from her position by the whiteboard. “It’s barely believable that we only have a few days to go, so it’s high time we tackled the issue of endings. Now, what do you think makes the end of a good book satisfying?”
And with that, Jo’s day felt blessedly normal.
* * *
It was almost eleven by the time she returned to her room, to find Zina in the last throes of cleaning it.
“I didn’t expect you to be doing that today as well,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m keeping my eye on social media and I’m pleased to report it’s a very small shitstorm so far, but my guess is there’ll be another when the States wakes up. Your not having any profiles is definitely helping. If there’s nobody for the trolls to tag with their vitriol they soon move on. It is trending though. Quite a clever hashtag, and I almost wish I’d thought of it: OnlyNeverYours.”
Despite herself, Jo burst out laughing. “Oh my goodness, that’s so clever. Anything else?”
“Well your phone’s been going nuts in your drawer, but I guess that’s to be expected.” Zina gave Jo’s pillows a final smooth, then straightened.
“Will you stay while I check my messages? There might be something I need your input on.”
“Sure.”
For once, Jo’s lock screen was rammed, so she had to look at her notifications separately. Seven missed calls from Rees, but no voicemail. She’d have to pick up eventually, but she’d let him stew for a while longer. Then a reply from Curtis and a message from her mum, which she’d deal with in a moment. The last was from her agent, so she clicked on it.
She turned to Zina. “ The Bookseller wants a quote, and a couple of the tabloids have been sniffing around too.”
“ The Bookseller is trade press, right? So we’d best give them something. Do you want to forward the message to me? I’d like to take a look at what the others have said so far, if anything, but I’m minded to just send them the statement we prepared.”
“You’re happy to handle it?”
Zina grinned at her. “It’s my job.”
Once Zina had gone, Jo took a carton of peach juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass.
Mum first, or Curtis?
She was a little nervous about what he might have said, but once she’d dealt with it she could relax and chat to her mother. A little nervous? Ha! She’d expected to be an emotional mess today, an out-of-control juggernaut slamming into her with full force, but no, the strange calm of the early morning remained with her. Hopefully it would last a little longer at least.
Tentatively she opened Curtis’s message, to be greeted by a photo of the wild cyclamen they’d planted around the apple tree last year, which was just coming into flower.
Thought you might need a pick me up. Interesting choice of charity. I’ve been wondering for a while. But now I’m concerned you might not feel safe when you come home.
Bless him; it was so typical of his kindly nature. And perceptive too.
Don’t worry, my parents are coming to stay until the worst is over. And thank you for understanding.
If you want me to change the locks, just ask. Anything. Just ask. You need your friends at a time like this.
And he was a friend. A good one. She realised how much she was looking forward to seeing him.
I’m hoping Rees will go quietly.
Divorce is never easy. Take it from me.
She hadn’t known he was divorced. He talked about his teenage children a lot, but come to think of it, never a wife. Just went to show, sometimes you needed to listen to what wasn’t being said as well.
Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you on Monday. Bring you some baklavá.
As she put down the phone, it rang. Rees. Get it over with, or not?
Her finger hovered over the little green icon. No, she’d do this when she was ready. Her timetable. She would call him. Later. Right now, she was going to settle down for a lovely chat with Mum.
* * *
Lunch had taken rather longer than usual, and the wine had flowed a little more freely. Jo, however, had restricted herself to a single glass. She definitely needed her wits about her, even with Zina taking the strain of the media enquiries and seemingly having the time of her life.
It was keeping her busy though, and Panora had been their waitress, telling them all proudly that her daughter’s skills were better used elsewhere today. Now, with the table cleared, Zina did appear, joining Karmela and Jo who were lingering over coffee in the courtyard.
“How is it all going?” Karmela asked.
“So far, so good. Obviously with the US waking up there’s a bit of fuss on social media, but nothing I didn’t expect. A few more interview requests too, but we can go through those later. More importantly, have you spoken to Rees?”
Jo shook her head. “I suppose it is time I bit the bullet. I was waiting until his missed calls got into double figures and they did about half an hour ago.” She looked from one of them to the other. “I know it sounds silly, but can you stick around while I phone him? I’ll just feel a bit stronger if I have some moral support.”
“It is what we do,” Karmela grinned, while Zina reached across the table and patted her hand.
There was no backing out now. She’d made the commitment. And then she realised the three of them being together was what she’d been waiting for all along. Learning to stand up to Rees was not going to be easy, however much she wanted to. The habits forged by their years together would die pretty hard.
Jo took a gulp of water. “Then here we go.”
It only rang twice before Rees picked up. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
Jo moved the phone a little further from her ear. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Where had that come from? It was almost a clever comeback. Zina put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, and Jo felt her courage grow.
“Of course you did, you brainless cow! What possessed you? You’ll never be published again! Your reputation’s in tatters. Have you seen the social media?”
“My PR’s dealing with all that for me. I’m a little busy teaching.”
“So someone’s put you up to this, have they? Some money-grubbing little publicist on the make. Not that there’ll be any money, not now. You’re absolutely mad, Jo. Off your rocker. If you were here, I’d have you fucking sectioned.”
Jo took a deep breath. Karmela squeezed her hand.
“Thank you,” Jo mouthed, then cleared her throat. “The money won’t be a problem, Rees, not once we’ve sold the house.”
“I am certainly not selling that house. What are you thinking?”
“Then you can buy me out as part of the divorce settlement.”
“Divorce!” he roared down the phone, making Jo wince. “You can’t divorce me.”
“Why not? I’ve plenty of grounds: infidelity, mental cruelty…” On the other side of the table, Zina punched the air.
“You’ll never survive without me.”
“Actually, Rees, all I’ve been doing since I married you is surviving, and now I want to live.”
“Who is he? That guy with the dog and the dodgy haircut?”
“Grow up, Rees. Why does there have to be anyone?” She was shaking badly now. She’d taken enough. Even with Karmela and Zina beside her, her strength was in tatters. She had to finish the call.
OK, Jo, one last push.
“Message me your lawyer’s contact details and we can get the ball rolling.”
Jo pressed the end call button, then collapsed onto the table, choking with noisy sobs as the juggernaut of emotion she’d been holding at arm’s length all day smashed into her. It was done. It was done, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Zina moved to one side of her, Karmela already on the other, wrapping their arms around her in a protective bubble.
“That was one of the bravest things I have ever heard,” said Karmela. “Well done, Jo. We are proud of you.”
Jo wept even more.